REPERCUSSIONS
a story by
Pam Sohan & Karen Knight


PROLOGUE

(PAM)

One month ago today was my anniversary or at least it was supposed to be my anniversary. My third anniversary to be exact. Instead I'm an almost divorced woman. It should be final around Halloween. How's that for a treat? Sucks if you ask me.

Katy's birthday has passed too. It was held on neutral territory at her Uncle Hank and Aunt Louise's house. Joe and I managed to be civil to each other during the party, mostly by staying as far away from each other as much as possible. It was sad. At one point I was out in the barn sitting on a hay bale with tears running down my face.

How the hell did my life get so screwed up? My husband thinks I'm a heartless !%%$%, who will basically sleep with anything in pants. Chris Gaines apparently thinks the same thing. Although I haven't seen of heard form him since that twenty minutes on the couch in my living room. Actually that's not exactly true, I did get something from him, no it wasn't an STD and thank God I'm not pregnant, it was a CD of songs that he supposedly recorded with me in mind. I should have thrown the damn thing away but instead I tortured myself by listening to every single note.

What the hell? Does he really think that a few lines will have me forgiving him? Does he really think that all he has to do is tell me I'm the inspiration for a few songs and I'll be his forever? Why now? Is this his way of apologizing for treating me like %#%%? Is he having trouble with Morgan again and trying to pave the way for a relationship with me? Fat chance buster. Even if he did write them for me, why admit it? Why?

Even with all the questions and the emotions that the songs have stirred up I'm still listening to it. It's in my trucks CD player. My excuse for leaving it in there is that Katy loves to listen to "her" Chris. Apparently his evil magic works on five year olds too.

Speaking of evil magic, Declan showed up on my doorstep again. The most amazing part of his visit was the fact that he has a gallery showing in New York, and he wants me to participate with him. Seems he shared some of the photos I had sent him, with the gallery owner and she loved them. Declan's abundant charm probably had something to do with that, but whatever. Somebody thinks I have talent, take that Joe Ross!!

One of the other bright spots in my life, besides my children, has been Beck Wilson. Although it didn't start out that way. I was getting these hang up calls in the middle of the night and they were starting to freak me out. Just before I called the police, it dawned on me to check the caller ID. (Yes I am blond, you're point?") It sounded vaguely familiar, so I checked my address book; it was Beck's cell phone.

The next time he called, I said, "Either talk to me or stop calling, I need my beauty sleep."

His reply, "No you don't. You're already beautiful."

He's such a suck up and knows how to keep me on the phone.

We've talked about pretty much everything under the sun, except for what he probably really needs to talk about, his kidnapping. But I won't push him. If he wants to share he will in his own good time. It's partially self preservation on my part too that I haven't pushed, I know what a cry baby I can be and I'm pretty squeamish when it comes to people being tortured. I'm really stating to look forward to his phone calls, its adult conversation. He doesn't judge or criticize, he just listens. He's probably the closest thing I have to a best friend right now. And I need that far more than I need a lover.

So life goes on, we roll with the punches and try our best to get back up when one lands hard. Right now that's all I can manage. Maybe someday far, far away from now I'll be ready to take another chance on love, but I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.

*********

AUGUST 2007

(PAM)

Seems as though Beck has decided he wants a little more contact than a phone call. He showed up on my doorstep this afternoon without any warning. He wasn't content to sit around and catch up in the house; instead we're in the car headed out for some kind of adventure he's dreamed up. He offered to bring the kids along but instead I decided we'd all be better off if they stayed with a babysitter. Lucky for all of us, Louise was available and more than happy to help out.

Beck is definitely in a good mood, he's been laughing and flirting from the moment he appeared and now I just think I need to remind him of the ground rules. "Umm Beck, friends remember?" Maybe it's what I'm wearing, I love this sundress, it's white with big sunflowers around the hem, it doesn't show a lot of skin, but maybe I should have just worn the jeans and tee shirt I had on when Beck showed up. Wearing a dress just seems to attach too much importance to the occasion.

He answers quickly, "Take it easy, buttercup. I promise not to jump your bones. It won't be because I don't find you incredibly attractive of course, but it's because neither of us want to go down that particular path right now. But face it buttercup, I'd hardly be a normal red blooded male if I didn't at least try to flirt with you. You're very…." He pauses and turns his head to look at me, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You're very flirtable."

I can't resist asking, "Is that even a real word?"

"What are you, my producer now? Today it is a word and it describes you perfectly."

There's silence in the car as we continue along. I'm trying to figure out where we're going, and at the same time trying to figure out if Beck is annoyed with my reaction. Finally I just have to say something, "Flirtable, huh?"

He nods.

I look back out the window, trying to spot any familiar landmarks that might point out something. Just a hint of a grin plays across my lips as I realize he's not the least bit angry. And I have to admit his comment has had an effect on me. What woman doesn't want a handsome sexy guy flirting with her? Even if she's not interested in getting into a new relationship. To Beck I say, "I think that'd be all right, after all you're pretty flirtable yourself, Mr. Wilson." He's wearing sunglasses that give him a slightly mysterious appearance, hiding his eyes. His blond hair is longer than I've ever seen it, curlier too. But somehow it doesn't look girly on him. Just the opposite in fact.

"Hmm, you get Buttercup, I get Mr. Wilson. Where's my nickname?

"Haven't thought of one yet, be patient."

That gets him laughing. Maybe you should talk to my producer, patience isn't one of my strong suits."

"Well I could call you Quick Draw, since I once saw you pull a gun on poor Clay pretty fast." I can't help myself, I just start to laugh at the memory of seeing him holding that gun and the look of sheer shock on Clay's face. My expression probably matched his pretty well.

Beck lets out a lengthy groan and starts shaking his head. "No way."

Ten bucks says he's immediately think of the other connotation 'quick draw' could have. He's a man, he has to be.

"Well maybe I'm not too thrilled with Buttercup, it kind of makes me feel like I should go on a diet or something," I tease.

But my comment doesn't make him smile; instead he grows rather quiet and stares straight ahead, focused only on the road ahead of us. Just as I'm about to start babbling and apologizing he speaks. "Buttercups grew wild all around my grandparents place. When I was a kid my grandfather would take me out to look for them when they were in bloom. My grandmother loved them."

Talk about instantly feeling like a complete jerk. I stutter out an apology as we pull to a stop at a red light and Beck's reaction is to reach over and pat my hand.

"Don't fret buttercup. You didn't know. Don't ever be scared to ask me anything, okay? That's something I love about you, you say what's on your mind. Honesty is a rare trait in this day and age. It's refreshing to find someone who still believes in its importance."

"It's refreshing to find some one that appreciates honesty. That is a big point in your favor." I tell him. If there had been more honesty in my life maybe I could have avoided a heartache or five.

He looks immensely pleased with himself. And suddenly I'm very glad I could put that big grin on his face. I think I just need to relax and stop looking for double meanings in everything he says or does. We're just out for a fun afternoon.

And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

********************

(PAM)

I hoist an imaginary trophy into the air and start singing "We Are The Champions'. Predictably that just cracks Beck up and he shakes his head at me. "Should have known better than to let you pick the course. I was distracted by the volcanoes and windmills and things."

"Excuses, excuses! I beat you fair and square."

"I bet you go to that course all the time. You're probably a ringer!"

"No way, I beat you fair and square."

"Okay fine; that you did." He bows low. "You are definitely the mini golf champion to beat all champions, buttercup."

"That'll be Tigerlily to you know," I quip.

"Nope, I nicknamed you Buttercup, you're not allowed to change your nickname," Beck tells me and points to a picnic table. "How's this one?"

"It's perfect." After the mini golf tournament - we played several games - we decided we were both starving. Beck got to pick the restaurant since I picked the mini golf course, and to my surprise he chose this drive inn. They got the regular car spots as well as a few scattered picnic tables for dining pleasure. I've taken the kids here a couple times but it's not really the type of place I pictured Beck liking. I guess I just thought Clay's place was more his style, not basic burgers and fries and chili dogs.

As we both slide onto our respective benches Beck comments, "I haven't had a date like this since I was in high school."

I can't resist answering, "I've never had a date like this." Then I tease, "Of course since this isn't a date...."

Beck begs to differ. "Let's see, I showed up at your place, asked if you wanted to do something, then I drove, and paid. Sounds like a date to me."

"Ah but to be an official date there would have to be a kiss on the front porch, and that's not going to happen."

He raises those dark sunglasses, pushing them up on top of his head as he arches an eyebrow. "Aww come on, how can you say that right now? We're not even at the porch part yet. That's hours away still." Is he pouting? I swear he's pouting and he looks absolutely adorable.

But I don't want to let him know that I think he's adorable, that would be way too much of an advantage in his favor. So I continue to tease him.
"So you think....."

"I know you mean. We've done the mini golf and now the drive in dinner, I think the movie comes next if memory serves me right." he continues, ticking off each item on his fingers.

Deciding to play along I tilt my head and look at him, "Drive in or regular?"

"Well if you were really serious about not ever having a date like this, which is a sign that there was something seriously wrong with the guys in your high school by the way, then it has to be a drive in.

I can't help but snort. "Next you're going to tell me that we have to park in the very last row."

He doesn't even hesitate. "Of course we do.

I shoot him a look that says, 'watch it, buster'

"I'll buy you popcorn," he adds, as if that's the deal breaker. "And the big drink."

I roll my eyes and look around at all the teenagers sitting at the other tables. "Oh goodie, then I can spend half the movie running back and forth to the bathroom. Remember those teenage years we were just talking about? 'fraid I'm way past them."

"So am I buttercup, so am I." Beck sighs and for a moment there's such a sadness in his eyes that I want to get up and give him a hug. Then he blinks and it vanishes. "But just for tonight let's pretend its 1980 something and be silly and goofy and act like we don't have a care in the world, except for how to sneak back in after curfew."

I jerk a thumb in the direction of the teenagers. "We could ask them for pointers." Then I reach across the table and lightly punch him in the shoulder. "We really will be pretending if you had to worry about a curfew in 1980." I know darn well he's a few years older than I am. In fact I'm pretty sure he's closer to Joe's age than he is mine.

Beck scowls. "Just for that no extra butter on your popcorn."

Because I like a smile on his face much better than the scowl, I say, "Aww, I'm sorry." Then lean forward and give him a kiss on the cheek. Before he can respond in kind however, I settle back into my seat and ask, "So which movie are we going to see?"

"Saw 3 is supposed to be great," he says enthusiastically.

"You're not taking me to see a horror film." I state firmly. I wouldn't think he'd want to go see one either given what happened to him.

"Why not?" Now he's excited. "If you get scared you'll want to sit closer to me. That will help things along."

"Beck I am NOT going to see a horror film, besides I'm not even sure that one qualifies. It's just blood and gore. Eww, no, we need to see something silly and mindless."

"That's silly and mindless. I mean how many people like that are there in the real world?"

"No!"

"Geez, you're bossy."

"You're just figuring that out?"

"You think it bothers me?" He leans over and loops a lock of my hair around his finger and tugs a little. "What if I said it actually turns me on?"

"I'd say that you are barking up the wrong tree. Believe me you don't want to go there." I mutter, pulling away from him

He keeps that lock of hair twisted around his finger for a heartbeat longer then he slowly unwinds it and pulls his hand back. "I'd say you were darn wrong. But I can also take a hint." He reaches down to his belt and unhooks his Blackberry. "Lets see what's playing around here and I'll let you pick the movie. Anything you want."

I'm relieved he doesn't push. Instead he took the hint and followed my lead. I'm not used to that, not lately anyway. Pushing images of Joe and Chris out of my mind, I bite my lip and ask, "Anything?"

"Sounds like you have something in mind," he says, looking up from the Blackberry.

"Actually I do. And you did say anything." This is going to be fun.

"Yes I did, and I suppose it's too late to back track, huh?" Funny, he might be complaining but his eyes are definitely twinkling.

"Yup," I confirm.

"So what is it?"

"Disney movie, animated."

He slowly sets the Blackberry down. "If that's the challenge, you're on. And I think maybe we need to increase the size of our party before we go. What do you say to picking Katy and Jack up before we go?"

I blink and realize he's serious. Something tells me Beck Wilson is not exactly the most predictable man I've ever met.

And there's something very intriguing about that.

************

(PAM)

Beck's eyes flicker open and I can tell there's a moment of panic as he struggles to remember where he is. Not wanting to prolong his confusion, I pat his hand and say, "Cool, it does work."

At the sound of my voice, he turns his head and takes a deep breath as his eyes focus on my face. "Huh, what?" he asks, then slips his hand out from underneath mine, rubbing it over his face. Not hard to see he doesn't get much peace when he sleeps, I can only imagine what sights and sounds haunt his dreams these days.

"Well you're not Prince Charming and I'm definitely not one of the Disney Princesses, but kissing you did wake you up," I tell him, hoping my light tone helps just a little.

He frowns. "You kissed me?"

I nod.

"Did not," he says and it's obvious he doesn't remember a thing.

I can't help giggling. "Oh yes I did. Not my fault you fell asleep and don't remember it." Katy and Jack wound up staying home with Louise, when I called Jack had just fallen asleep and Katy's friend Kelly had shown up to play. Beck and I are the only duo at the theater without accompanying children and I expected him to balk and suggest a different movie. But to my surprise, he marched right up to the ticket counter and purchased two tickets to 'The Incredibles'.

Seems to me Beck Wilson not only loves romantic comedies, but he seems to enjoy animated movies as well. But he lasted about twenty minutes into the movie, before he sunk down in his seat, eyes closed, breathing even as he slept.

"I think I need a replay," he demands as he straightens up in his chair. He's not the least bit embarrassed at being caught napping, I guess he's used to grabbing shut eye wherever he can in his line of work. He's spent enough time in war zones and covering other crisis' to have perfected the art of the cat nap.

I glance around and realize there are only a few more people left in the theater and the cleaning crew has already come in to pick up empty popcorn boxes and drink cups. To Beck I admit, "That's a tempting offer."

"How tempting?"

"Very." I'm not going to lie, but I'm also not going to make it easy. "But you'll have to wait until we get to the front porch."

Of course he starts to complain. "But it's so nice and comfy here." There's that adorable pout again and there's a jolt when I realize I'd like nothing better than to press my lips against his and see if I can change that pout into a smile.

"And they're going to kick us out as soon as they get to this row." I point out the cleaners.

That gets him to his feet and he holds out his hand, tugging me to my feet as soon as I take his hand. "Fine. Let's get out of here then." I barely have enough time to grab my purse before he's leading the way toward the exit. "Tell me a shortcut to your house and close your eyes whenever you see a speed limit sign coming up.

"Beck you can't break the law," I protest as he pushes the doors to the theater open and lets me precede him into the lobby.

He takes hold of my shoulder, holding tight until I stop. Then he leans down, his head right next to mine as he whispers in my ear, "Just watch me lady. And trust me, there's not a cop out there who'd give me a ticket once he got a glimpse of you."

The resulting shiver running down my spine has nothing at all to do with the air conditioning blasting through the lobby, and everything to do with the man standing beside me.

What the hell am I doing? I'm not even divorced, yet I've already had an intimate relationship with Declan. And that doesn't even include whatever the hell happened between me and Chris. I'm not looking for another relationship and I get the feeling Beck isn't either. Both of us have too much else to deal with first.

And that's exactly what we're going to do, deal with the crap first, but that doesn't mean we can't enjoy each other's company. And a little flirting never hurt anyone, right? We've been up front with each other; we know what the ground rules are. For the first time in a very long time, I'm really trying to be a grown up. I have to be it's not just all about me anymore.

"Whatever. Just remember as you're speeding along that I'm a single parent and there are two kids expecting their Mom home in one piece," I tell him.

"Oh trust me; you'll get home in one piece. It'll be more fun once we get there that way," he says waggling his eyebrows.

He's probably just teasing, keeping up the flirting he's been doing all night, but it just hits me the wrong way. Turning towards the window I watch the scenery pass by as he drives. Is it too much to ask to have a nice time with a guy without sex rearing its nasty head?

Beck pulls into my driveway and turns the car off. I turn and smile at him, suddenly very nervous about that front porch kiss.

He smiles back for a moment then opens his door and gets out, walks around to my side, opens the door and holds out his hand. I take it and get out of the car. He holds on even after he closes the door behind me. We walk up to the front porch and I can't help but feel like a teenager instead of the fully grown woman I am.

When we reach the porch, Beck leans in and kisses my cheek. And I can't help but let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding.

"Thank you," I say softly.

"For what?" he asks.

"A very nice date. It made up for a lot," I tell him. And it really did. He flirted with me, but didn't push it. He understood when I said I wasn't ready for anything. It was a very nice change to have a man actually listen to what I was saying.

"Does that mean I have a chance if I ask for another at some point?

"You just might have a chance." I smile at him. And it's the truth. I do want to spend more time with him. I could wax poetic and say something like he's a soothing balm to my injured heart, but that would be too sappy.

Beck grins back with the grin that changes his whole face. "Good night," he says, squeezing my hand as he quickly leans in for another kiss on the cheek. "Sleep well," he whispers.

"You too. Drive safe." I chuckle, remembering his earlier suggestion that he ignore all the speed limit signs.

He turns and jogs back to his rental car. One more wave and he's gone.

Who says you can't go back and recapture things? Tonight I got to have a real high school style date, twenty years after I graduated. And I loved every minute of it.

************

(PAM)

It's been a busy day but I have a wonderful sense of accomplishment. Clay hired me to take the pictures for his new cookbook. There were a few false starts until I figured out the lighting, but I think I've finally got the hang of photographing food rather than people.

Now I'm waiting outside the restaurant for Beck to pick me up. He's back in town for a few days and I told him not to bother with a rental this time. He could borrow my Armada anytime he wanted. Katy isn't in school since its summer so I don't have to worry about picking her up at any set time.

I spot my truck pulling into the parking lot so I wave to get Beck's attention.

"Hi," I say as I climb in, set my camera bag down, and buckle my seat belt. "The shoot turned out really great. Clay had brought his laptop with him, so we downloaded the pictures and they were really good if I do say so myself." I chuckle. "And the best part is that the food didn't once complain about the lighting or the angle of the shot or if the sauce made it look fat." That cracks me up and I start to laugh.

It dawns on me after a minute or two that I'm the only one making any noise. Which is rather odd since Beck is a reporter and likes to talk. In the time I've known him, he's always been ready with a comment or an observation.

"Okay, what's wrong?" I finally ask him, wondering if he was in the middle of something and is mad he had to leave to come pick me up. If that's the case, he can get a rental car and I'll apologize for being nice and trying to save him some money.

He doesn't say a word just stares at me for a long moment. And when I'm at the point where I'm going to start squirming in my seat, he points to the CD player and in silence pulls out of the parking lot into the flow of traffic.

It takes another minute of two for my brain to kick in and realize why he pointed there.

"Oh *$*+." I say when it dawns on me exactly which CD is loaded into the player.

"Are you the reason Chris and Morgan separated?" he asks in that no nonsense voice I've heard him use in interviews.

Deciding that the situation calls for total honesty I answer, "Partially, and Chris is partially the reason Joe and I broke up. It was stupid and pointless. I didn't have sex with Chris until Joe and I were already separated for months and it was a wham bam thank you ma'am thing. And if I could go back and undo that twenty minutes I would in a heartbeat because it hurt more than anything else."

Even thinking about that night still makes my chest hurt.

"It's really none of my business," is all he says and I wish I could count the number of times I've heard another man say that to me. That was always Joe's idea of a good response if we were arguing or disagreeing and almost every time he said it he meant the opposite.

"Yes it is your business, I don't want there to be any secrets between us. They have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass when you least expect it. If we're going to have any kind of a relationship, even if it's a friendship, or maybe even more so for a friendship. We have to be honest with each other even if it hurts. I have no idea why Chris recorded that CD or what he expected to get out of sending it to me. I should have thrown the damn thing away when I got it, but I've always been a fan and I wanted to hear the songs," I say adamantly and I mean every word.

The CD really makes no sense given that he hasn't even as much as phoned me or emailed me since that night. Maybe they were songs written throughout the previous year, when he was running to me for solace all the time. When I was fantasizing about what might be instead of focusing on what I already had.

"Since he's separated now, are you going to go after him?" Beck asks me and it's a fair question. And one I've asked myself on more than one occasion ever since Ireland. It's not as if Chris' marriage to Morgan is any stronger than my marriage to Joe. They just haven't reached the same point as we have yet.

"If Chris had been married to anyone else besides Morgan, I might have. But I've already fought that fight once and lost. I have no desire to get involved with another man with that woman on his mind."

Beck unexpectedly laughs. "You make it sound like she's a Jezebel with a string of men haunted by her."

I shrug. "If the shoe fits…. Chris and I had a great friendship and we mucked it up. There is nothing between us any more. In fact…." I reach over and hit the eject button on the CD player. When it spits the CD out I grab it and tell Beck to pull over at the next gas station.

He gives me a weird look but doesn't ask any more questions. He just does as I ask and as soon as we come to a halt, I get out and dump the CD in the nearest garbage can. Brushing my hands off on my jeans with a satisfied nod, I climb back into the truck.

When it comes to my life I refuse to live in a dream world any more.

***********************

(PAM)

Beck pulls out of the gas station parking lot and continues on toward my house. Now that the rush of bravado after tossing Chris' CD out has left me, I feel drained and more than a little uncomfortable again. It's hard not to wonder what Beck thinks of this. I'm used to judgmental men and I keep imagining him thinking the worst about me, even though I'm not really sure why it matters. Sure, we're building a friendship but I'm not looking for anything else.

But maybe that's it. For the first time in a long time, I've got the chance to be good friends with another man without the endless complications that characterized my relationship with Chris. And I really don't think I'm ready for this budding friendship to end.

But I also don't know what to say to him.

The truck suddenly stops and I realize we're in the parking lot of a local park. Beck hops out, letting the door bang shut behind him. I watch as he walks in front of the truck and pulls open my door. Then he takes a step back and just when I'm expecting him to hand me the keys, he asks, "Will you go for a walk with me?"

"Okay." I agree. Surely he won't cause a scene in a public place. Maybe I need to relax and stop comparing him to the other men in my life.

Beck closes the door behind me and we set off on one of the walking trails. The park isn't very full; it's too late for lunch and probably still a little early for dinner. There are a couple of the tables filled with people enjoying the beautiful weather, we've caught a break from the Oklahoma heat and it's actually quite pleasant outside. I catch the scent of someone grilling an early dinner.

And my stomach growls in reaction. Beck shoots me a look. "I probably should have taken you out to lunch instead of to a park."

"Not necessary." I brush the roundabout offer away with a flick of my hand. "Just a side effect of spending my morning photographing delicious looking food."

Beck doesn't respond to that, and once again I'm left wondering where this walk is leading. Am I in for a hand shake and a 'best of luck in the future' wish?

But if that's what he intends, he's being pretty close mouthed. We wind our way through the trees without exchanging a word for about ten minutes and it's not until we come across an empty bench that Beck finally pauses and looks at me again.

He perches on the edge of the bench then a moment later he's back on his feet pacing back and forth on the gravel path until I'm certain he's going to wear a bare spot. My stomach is churning and my heart is pounding and I'm trying to tell myself it will work out for the best when he finally reaches for my hands, holding them between his own. "I have to be honest with you, Pam. I like you. You're funny and smart and..." A hint of a smile flickers across his lips. "And very very beautiful. I like spending time with you but...." Why is he pausing here? I want to scream!

And I'm fighting the urge to start filling in words for him, I like you but you have two kids, I like you but you have too much baggage, I like you but I can't be with a %@+%. Geez, I really need to sign up for self esteem classes. But those little voices in my head are screaming at me at the moment reminding me of every mistake I've ever made.

"But, what?" I finally manage to get out. I'm not all that sure I want to hear the answer but I'm through with running from things I don't want to deal with or trying to make things easier for someone else to tell me good-bye, whatever Beck is trying to say, I'll deal with it here and now.

At least I have some consolation in the fact he suddenly looks really miserable. That helps just a little as I steel myself to hear what he's going to say. "Okay, look, I'm just going to say this."

What a good idea, I'm thinking! Come on Beck, just spit it out. This is a man who's known for never being at loss for words whether he's interviewing a Marine stationed in Mogadishu or the President of North Korea. Maybe I should pat myself on the back for getting him totally tongue tied.

"This is nuts," he's muttering. "Look, Pam, I'm not ready for any kind of romance. Its not you, it's me. It's going to sound ridiculous and trite but it's the truth. I'm still recovering from Iraq; I have to deal with that before I can concentrate on my love life."

I almost want to laugh with relief; he didn't say a single terrible thing about me. He's worried about giving me the wrong impression, and I'm worried about leading him on. What a pair.

"Beck, I thought we covered this before our high school date. I know that neither one of us is ready to dive in the pool of romance again. I like spending time with you, I love our conversations, I appreciate the way you accept that sometimes my children have to part of our plans, but I'm not seeing visions of orange blossoms and wedding gowns. "

He looks so relieved that it's all I can do not to laugh out loud. Then he reaches out and pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me into what feels like a bear hug. "Thank goodness," he declares. "When I heard that CD in your truck I think I was hoping you'd tell me that there was something between you and Chris and I'd be off the hook. More and more I've been thinking of you as my best friend, Pam. You've been there for me in ways no one else has and I appreciate that more than you know. And I flirt and say things that probably give you the wrong impression."

I manage to tap him on the back. "Squishing me," I gasp.

"Sorry, sorry." He instantly releases me.

"It's okay, Beck, I like being your friend and you know that goes both ways. You've been around for me too. And now I'm going to be all female and mushy." I warn him. Stepping closer, I wrap my arms around him again and whisper, "I'm so glad you came home again. I don't know what I would have done without you my friend. "

I feel him wrap his arms around me again, and this time the hug is just right. I cling to him for a long moment then pull away, take a deep breath to keep tears away and say "Now take me out to eat. All this walking and emotion has got me starving."

"Why do I get the feeling I owe you more than just a hot dog from a park vendor?" he asks, then tucks my hand securely in his own as we turn around and start back down the path toward the truck.

"Actually a hot dog sounds just perfect, my friend." He gives my fingers a squeeze and the accompanying smile he gives me makes me smile right back at him.

*********

(PAM)

I'm still not used to flying commercial. Three years of having either my husband, or Kent, at the controls, has spoiled me for life. But the sad truth is neither of those men is in my life anymore. Well okay maybe it's not all that sad that Joe isn't in my life. He may not have made the best husband, but I always felt safe with him at the controls, I trusted that he had made sure the plane was safe and that he could handle any emergency that came along.

Today's landing was a little jarring, and I'm very glad I can get off the plane. The next hurdle is customs and finding my way around an airport in a foreign country. Not my favorite thing to do, but it's the only way to get to the person waiting on the other side.

Trust Beck to make an admission like he did in the park that he's only looking for a friend, and then a day later he's inviting me on an Italian getaway. No strings attached of course. He's working on a long delayed project--a book on his favorite part of Italy-- and he's decided I have to take the photographs. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd be an idiot to turn down a trip to the Amalfi coast. Dad and Carolyn agreed to babysit Katy and Jack for the duration of the trip because their father is off to points unknown.

And here I am in Naples.

Customs isn't as bad as I fear and in what seems like no time at all I'm making my way through the crowds of other passengers to get my luggage. The minute I step into the waiting area I see Beck, sunglasses on, looking very continental in well worn jeans, sandals and a very crisp white dress shirt. He's very cheekily holding up a sign that has 'My BFF' scrawled on it.

I can't help but smile and laugh. What a goof. All the cares and worries of the trip fall away as I make my over to him. "You had better be holding that sign up for me buster." I tease him.

"No one else." He smiles as slides his sunglasses off. "Benvenito in Italia, Pam," he says then takes a step closer and kisses both my cheeks.

Then he's reaching for my suitcase with one hand, and taking my hand in his other, expertly making his way through the crowds to the parking lot outside. He stops beside a sporty red convertible. I look from him to the car and back again.

"It fits the sunglasses." I chuckle. "It's a whole new side to you too. Quite the sexy car. Not what I was expecting from a hard bitten reporter."

"Hey, even us hard bitten reporters are allowed to have fun and let our hair down once in a while," he retorts. "When you see the road, you'll see why I chose this car. It fits the image." He reaches into the car and pulls out an oblong box, wrapped in silver paper and topped with a blue ribbon and hands it to me.

"What's this?"

"Open it and find out," he says, crossing his arms and leaning against the car door.

I don't bother trying to save the paper or the ribbon, ripping it off in record time to uncover a pair of sunglasses all my own. "Guess these fit the image too, huh?"

He nods and grins at me as I slide them on, then accompanies me around to the passenger's side of the car, opening and closing the door for me. "Seatbelt on?" he asks as he gets behind the wheel.

As soon as I nod he gives me another grin and the car roars to life. Within minutes we're on the highway heading south to the coast.

And it doesn't take long to discover what Beck was talking about. This road is insane. It's very narrow and the curves are enough to make my heart jump into my throat. The views around those hairpin turns are so breathtaking that I almost forget about the road. The water is the most amazing shade of blue; the sheer cliffs while scary when you realize that there is very little keeping you from tumbling down them, are beautiful. Every once in awhile I get a glimpse of a house built along those cliffs and I can't imagine living with that much beauty at you fingertips every day.

But when we're stopped several times along the way to allow enormous tour buses to lumber past, I start putting things into their proper perspective. It might be drop dead gorgeous here but there are annoyances just like any place. "You said you've been here before?' I ask Beck as we get underway once again.

"Many times, this is my idea of heaven. The perfect getaway from all of life's pressures," he replies, expertly shifting around a corner. I know another man who'd be just at home in a fast sports car on a twisting and turning road but I promised myself I wasn't going to think about him while I'm over here.

Pushing all thoughts of Chris firmly from my mind, I concentrate instead on the beautiful scenery and the man at my side. In short order we're pulling up in front of the hotel that will be our home base for the duration of the holiday. Beck jumps out of the car, dashing around to open my door and hold his hand out to help me get out of the low slung seat. "Welcome to the Hotel Santa Caterina."

I take a deep breath and look around. There are gardens and citrus groves and while our backs are to the Amalfi drive, in front of us are landscaped terraces that lead right down to the water. Its the perfect setting.

"Would you believe the hotel has existed since 1904?" Beck tells me.

I nod. "I'd believe it."

Beck leans in and whispers, "Brad and Angelina even stayed here a few years ago."

"Really?" I whisper back and then shake my head. "That's lovely for them but I think I'd rather see our accommodations."

Beck gives a low sweeping bow. "Follow me signorina."

The lobby is amazing, with beautiful tile floors and a wall of windows that look out over the coastline. I'm barely given time to take it all in before Beck whisks me away to our accommodations.

"We have a suite, two bedrooms, so you don't have to worry about your honor," Beck says as we walk.

"If I was worried about that I wouldn't be here Beck." I tell him, "We talked about all that already."

Beck opens the door to our chalet and I can hardly speak. There is a living room with a terrace and that's where I head after setting my carry on bag down. Standing on the terrace I looking out at the view and I feel as if I've died and gone to heaven, there aren't words to describe how beautiful this place. I sure hope I can do it justice with me camera. Something tells me that even if I take the best pictures of my life, it still won't come close to what its like to actually be here

We have lemon and orange trees just outside the door. A terrace overlooking Amalfi and the bay. Even the bathroom has a stunning view of the water. The bedrooms are on the upper floor and on the ground floor the terrace leads out to a small garden. If this isn't paradise, I don't know what is.

Beck offers me my pick of the two bedrooms but I choose the currently unoccupied one. They both have sea views so I'm not about to kick him out of the room he's already been using.

He gives me some time to settle in and when I finally come back downstairs after changing into shorts, he's sitting outside on the terrace, a bottle of wine and some appetizers waiting for me.

He pours me a glass of wine, then holds up his own. "To a wonderful vacation."

"I'll drink to that," I tell him and then offer a toast of my own. "And here's to a wonderful friendship."

"I'll drink to that," he says and raises his glass to his lips.

I take a small sip, wine really isn't my thing, but this one is very good, so I take another bigger sip. Looking over the tray of appetizers I see that there are actually several things that look really good.

Looking back up at Beck I ask, "What no anchovies, olives and plum combinations?"

I laugh remembering the odd assortment of items he sent me to the grocery store for the day after he spent the night.

"Those come later, along with squid and sea urchins and octopus," he declares and holds out a crusty piece of bread with what looks like a tomato, garlic and basil.

"This is a piece of bruschetta if ever I saw one," I tell him with a grin. "All the time I've spent photographing Clay's creations has give me quite the food education."

"Ah then you're definitely open to trying new things." Beck impressively polishes off two pieces of the bruschetta before I've finished the first one. Looks like I'd better eat a little faster or I'll be in danger of starving.

"Well I did take a chance on being your friend........" I let my voice trial off as an idea hits me. "That's what you nickname is!" I say excitedly.

"What? I must have missed something," Beck says with a puzzled look on his face.

"Chance. That's my nickname for you."

"Chance?" He asks. "What kind of nickname is that?"

"I took a chance when you wanted to interview me for that piece about Chris. I didn't know for sure how you would treat me. I took a chance on even talking to you after you pulled a gun on a friend. And I took another chance when you showed up at my house unannounced and asked me out to dinner." I explain. "So chance it is."

He mulls over that for a few minutes, rolling the nickname over his tongue a few times, then he finally smiles and holds up his wineglass. When I finally grab mine and clink it against his, he says, "Well Buttercup, I guess Chance it is."

Now that's a toast.

*************

(PAM)

I expected to have jet lag after the flights from Tulsa to Naples but instead at barely six in the morning, I'm wide awake. I put off getting up as long as I can to let Beck sleep as late as he wants, but finally the anticipation is just too much. I'm in a foreign country, there's exploring to do and photos to take.

Yesterday it was already later in the day when I arrived so Beck and I basically stayed around the hotel. Not really a hardship considering how wonderful this place is. I think I could be very happy living the rest of my life right here. Wonder what Katy and Jack would think?

I can picture the two of them running around, chattering away fluently in Italian as they beg me for another gelato or some more biscotti. I'm such a goof sometimes.

But just the same I can't help wondering how they're doing with Dad and Carolyn. I hope Jack is sleeping all right; being in a diff erent place. And I hope Katy is being a good girl, she has her Grandfather wrapped right around her finger and I can only cross my fingers and hope she's not taking advantage of that. It's only been a day but I already miss the little brats.

Promising myself I'm not going to spend my whole trip feeling sorry that I'm apart from my children, I waste a little more time by having a relaxing bath. Then I put a little more effort into doing my hair and I even put a little make up on. Every woman I've seen so far has been perfectly turned out and I guess it's got my competitive streak up.
If I was at home taking pictures, I'd wear jeans and tennis shoes. But I think Italy calls a little more than that. Luckily I did some shopping before I left home. I slide a pair of chinos that fit great but have just enough stretch that I should be comfy all day. A short sleeved top in my favorite shade of green, a pair of flats, earrings and the necklace that Garth gave me a million years ago and I'm ready to go.

Quietly, I open the door to my bedroom and walk downstairs to the living room. When I walk into the room I'm surprise d to see Beck is already awake and has quite the spread already set out for breakfast on the terrace.

"I thought I was going to be the first one up, but I see you beat me. Mmmmmm, breakfast looks and smells delicious," I tell him as I sit down at the table across from him. I'm not sure which view is better, the one of the sea or the one sitting across the table from me. Beck didn't shave this morning, and is look decidedly scruffy this morning. A blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up, has replaced the white shirt from yesterday, but he's still wearing jeans. It's a very appealing picture.

Hey just because he's my friend, doesn't mean I can't notice how good looking he is.

"Dig in," Beck says, waving a hand as I try to decide where to start. There's fresh fruit, including some oranges I'm sure ar e probably right off the trees outside.

I take some orange and grapefruit slices, then point to a plate of what looks like croissants beside Beck's elbow. "Mmm, those look great."

He holds out the plate to me. "Cornetto, signorina?"

"Si," I can't resist trying out my very basic Italian. I tried to study an Italian English dictionary on the flight but I don't think very much sunk in. Lucky for me I seem to have a very accommodating translator accompanying me.

"Cappuccino?"

"I think I'll pass, trust me you don't want to be around me when I've had too much caffeine. Me wired is not a pretty sight."

"I find that hard to believe that you're never not a pretty sight."

I waggle my fingers at him. "Keep those compliments coming."

"No problem." He's very easy going first thing in the morning and it hits me that this is going to be a true test of our friendship. We're going to be together at all times of the day for the next two weeks. This could turn out to be very interesting, I realize and I find I'm looking forward to getting to know Mr. Wilson better.

After pouring myself some orange juice and taking a long drink, I lean back in my chair and sigh.

"Ah, I can't remember the last time I had a leisurely breakfast."

"Kids usually keep you hopping in the morning?" Beck asks.

"Yes they do. It's a little easier now that Jack is eating people food, I don't have to try and get Katy's breakfast ready while trying to hold and feed Jack. Of course now he's discovered that if he drops something off his high chair tray I'll pick it up. It's turned into quite a game." I laugh.

Beck chuckles. "My nephew does that too, drives my sister insane."

"Is your sister older or younger than you?" I ask him. "Any other siblings?" I know very little about the charming man sitting across from me, might as well ask some questions while we eat. Of course I guess I could just google him but I think I'd rather hear his life story right from the proverbial horse's mouth, rather than trying to weeding out the truth from what I could read on line.

"I'd like to say I'm the baby of the family and everyone spoils me but sadly I'd be lying." He pours himself some more cappuccino. "I'm the eldest of three kids, one brother two years younger and one sister, three years younger than my brother."

I do some quick arithmetic and realize his sister is just a couple years older than me. Wonder if we have anything in common, other than Beck of course? "I'm an only child unfortunately," I admit. "Always wondered what it would be like to have a couple siblings, but I was lucky, my best friend Fran had a bunch and I spent a lot of time growing up with her family. So I guess I got a taste of it. But I'm very glad Katy has Jack," I tell Beck. Of course Katy also has three other siblings so she's way ahead of me.

"You were born in Texas, right?"

"That's right, sir," I drawl. "How about you?"

He whistles a few bars of a song that sounds vaguely familiar.

"Okay, I'm bad when it comes to hints, what were you whistling?"

"Oh Canada, I was born in Winnipeg," Beck tells me, leaning back in his chair.

"Really?" I'm surprised, I guess he just seems so American, I never considered that he might have been born in another country. But then again, Canada isn't all that different than the States. I seem to recall Winnipeg only being a couple hours drive from the border.

"I wouldn't lie to you. I'm Canadian through and through, didn't move to the States until I went to college. But I've been stateside every since."

"Hmm, I always wanted a friend from another country, some one mysterious, with an intriguing accent, with all kinds of thrilling stories to tell..." Beck is leaning in listening to my description, a half smile on his face. It's easy to tell that he thinks he fits the bill to a 'T'. I think I need to deflate that ego just a bit, sighing, I add, "But I guess I'll just have to make do with you, Chance.

When what I just said finally hits him, he throws a cornetto at me as I duck, followed by another one, and another one, I lean down and pick one up off the floor and fling it right back at him. The flying bread continues until we are both breathless with laughter.

Yep, I think this trip is definitely going to be interesting. And I'm not altogether sure I'm ever going to be able to take him serious again.

**********

(PAM)

We're back in the Alfa Romeo again careening around hairpin turns and coming perilously close to sheer drops. And I'm loving every minute of it, apparently I'm a adrenalin junkie and didn't even know it. I suppose I should be scared, after all I have two small children back in the states that are expecting me home in one piece, but I just have this feeling that nothing bad is going to happen to me while I'm with Beck.

We're headed towards Ravello; a place that has breathtaking Mediterranean views according to my tour guide. And I find I really don't care where we are headed, I'm happy being out on the open road, the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, it's been quite a while since I've felt this carefree. I look over at Beck and he seems to be enjoying himself too. Anyone looking at him wouldn't think he had a care in the world. But I heard him up and about in the middle of the night. I can't even imagine the images he must see when he closes his eyes.

Villa Rufolo and the Cathedral of Ravello are our destinations today. Beck wants me to take some pictures for the book he's working on. I'm more than happy to take photos of whatever he wants me to. He wants shots of the wineglasses on the table on our terrace; I'll do it. An ancient church or a villa; show me the way.

"Just how old is this church?" I ask Beck. No need for a guidebook in hand when I have him at my side. If I have a question I just ask and he inevitably knows the answer. Either the man has spent a hell of a lot of time researching this part of Italy or he's got a photographic memory. I wouldn't put them both past him.

""It was built in 1087 at the wish of Nicolo Rufolo," Beck tells me.

"He of the villa, I suppose?"

"Same family. The villa was actually built in 1270. You'll love the gardens there."

"I love any garden I don't have to take care of." I laugh. "I had one when Joe and I first got married, but then Katy came into our lives, we moved, then Jack was born and I was just too busy to keep up with it. I do have some pictures that I love of the flowers with rain drops on them and some great pictures of our garden with ice on it. "

"I don't think you'll have to worry about either of those two things today," Beck says, the ever practical one.

He does have a point; the sky is an endless blue today, with not a cloud in sight. For taking pictures it would actually be better if it was a little overcast, but Photoshop and I can deal with the bright sunshine.

Beck manages to find a place to park that seems safe from the danger of being hit by a passing car and doesn't require us to walk more than a half a mile.

The villa is beautiful. Massive grey stone walls, a tower. Amazing when you think that it was built by hand without the cranes and machinery of modern construction. I take a minute to switch lenses on my camera and start taking pictures of the entrance to the Villa from as many angles as I can think of. I'm surprised at first when Beck doesn't complain about the sheer number of shots I take of each area he wants photographed, but then it hits me that he's dealt with a lot of photographers in his job. Maybe they haven't all been still photographers but he's got the patience to wait for that perfect shot.

I can't help comparing that with Joe's attitude. As supportive as he was of my hobby, he couldn't understand why I felt compelled to take shot after shot of the same subject, with differing angles being the only difference from one frame to the next. And he definitely didn't like it when I was hired to take portraits, especially when the subject was Chris.

There's one photo shoot I really need to forget, I tell myself and ask Beck where he wants to go next. He leaves it up to me and we wander through the chapel and the reception hall and I'm struck by the ornamentation everywhere.

"Its Arab influenced," Beck explains. He points to one section, "That's a Moorish cloister."

I ask for an explanation and he's more than happy to oblige. Something tells me Mr. Wilson has a bit of a fascination with architecture.

After we've finished inside he leads the way out to the garden and I notice a stage set up on a terrace overhanging the sea. "That's quite the spot to perform." There were signs for the Ravello festival along the route to the villa and from Beck I gather it's quite the annual cultural event, especially for jazz and Wagner enthusiasts. I know someone who just might be interested but I doubt I'll be telling him about it.

I could linger in the garden all afternoon, there are so many beautiful flowers and plants, and with a dazzling view of the Mediterranean in the background it's like something out of a fairy tale. Good thing I have a big memory card in my camera and a laptop back at the hotel to download all the photos onto. I have a feeling I'll need the space for whatever we do tomorrow.

"You ready to head over to the cathedral," Beck asks. "Or would you prefer some lunch first?"

Now there's a difficult decision. We pause outside in the square between the two buildings and I hesitate. "I don't know, they both sound good. Which do you prefer?" I ask Beck.

"Nope, your decision," he tells me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "This is your vacation."

"Hey, I thought this was a business trip. You hired me to be your official photographer," I remind him. But I love the sound of the word 'vacation'. I really can't remember the last time I could just relax and go and do whatever I wanted.

"For me it's a business trip, for you a vacation." He grins. Then stepping closer he takes my hand and places it in the crook of his arm and starts walking towards the cafe. "You Buttercup are my arm candy for this trip."

I could get upset at that comment, but I decide to go with the flow. I know that he has faith in my photographic abilities or I wouldn't be here.

"And here I thought you were my arm candy, Chance." I laugh and squeeze his arm.

Beck laughs with me and covers my hand with his. He's so easy to be with, I don't have to worry about what I say, or look for hidden meanings behind everything he says. It's a very refreshing change.

We decide to sit outside at the cafe and I nod my agreement to letting Beck order for me. When he does I decide that I could listen to him all day, his accent is perfect. I'm hardly fluent in one language sometimes, I can't imagine being able to speak two. Just one more intriguing thing about Mr. Wilson.

When the waiter leaves and Beck turns his attention back to me, I ask him something that has been swirling around my mind for a while now. "This is going to seem out of left field but you did say I could ask you anything." I babble.

"Yes I did." He grins and once again I just want to smile right along with him.

"Are you related to Roger Wilson?" I ask.

"There's probably quite a few Roger Wilson's in this world, Buttercup. But if I had to hazard a guess I'd say you're asking if I'm related to the Roger Wilson of Jamaica, the one who's married to former President Scott's daughter Nina?"

"That would be the one. I know its kind of a stupid question, Wilson is a pretty common name, huh?" Okay, now I'm starting to feel rather silly for asking him, but I have been wondering ever since we first met.

"No question you could ask me is stupid, Pam. Actually according to my mother, we're second cousins or something. It's kind of cool to somehow be related to a Grammy award winning producer."

"If he's smart he thinks it's pretty cool to be related to an Emmy award winning reporter," I tell him with a wink. "I've met Roger and Nina twice, the first time was at a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony and at her Father's funeral. I don't think she liked me much. Probably because she was friends with Morgan."

Beck leans forward and taps my nose as he says, "Well, then that's her loss."

Our food arrives, and it all looks and smells delicious. We linger over lunch, taking our time to enjoy the food, the setting of the cafe, and the company. Eventually the food is gone and we head off towards the church.

The more I learn about Beck Wilson the more intrigued I am, and I'm very glad we have this time to get to know each other, away from all the worries and concerns and baggage of our regular lives.

****************

(PAM)

Today's destination is Positano. According to my living breathing guidebook, Positano is considered one of the most beautiful and picturesque places of the world. Small houses, a magic atmosphere, beaches, the friendliness of the inhabitants, the hotels, give a great charm of this village. Tourists do love this place and I have little doubt I'll feel the same way.

I can't resist snapping a photograph of Beck as he's driving. He just looks so comfortable driving this car, those sunglasses firmly in place, his blond hair blowing in the wind.

"You realize that you've just broken your camera by doing that right?" He drawls.

"Yah right. I don't think so," I shoot back while I snap a picture of his hands on the steering wheel, then a close up of his profile and yet another of his hair curling along his shirt collar.

Beck finally puts his hand up over the lens of my camera and I take the hint and turn my lens back on the scenery. Not my fault if he's very photogenic. That probably has as much to do with his success; as his talent of getting just about anyone to co-operate with him and open up when no one else has been able to so. He's done that over and over again with subjects from a soldier in Iraq to the King of Sweden to me. I've stopped cringing every time I think of the interview I did for his special on Chris, now I'm just amazed at the things he got me to admit with just a smile or a gentle line of questioning.

Positano is a "vertical" village. Houses are organized as a colored cascade along the hills and they are just beautiful. I snap photo after photo as we make our way from the car through town. Built on the rocks and facing the blue sea they are just so quaint and inviting that I can totally picture how relaxing it would be to live here. There are narrow streets and now and then we catch glimpses of the beach.

According to Beck the village is situated among three small valleys, in the middle between Punta Germano and Capo Sottile, at the feet of Lattari Mountains. In front of the coast there are three small isles, forming an archipelago, called "Li Galli" or "Sirenuse". According to local legend mermaids lived there, a fact I'm sure both Katy and Lily would love to hear. I've lost count of the number of times we've watched 'The Little Mermaid' at my house.

"The most beautiful church in Positano is the one dedicated to Our Lady of the Assumption, celebrated on 15th August," Beck tells me. And of course the church is out first destination today and I wonder if I should start carrying a little notebook to write down all these facts Beck keeps telling me. I think I'd like to remember them to use when I get back home and scrapbook my adventures. Something tells me I'll have enough photos to fill several scrapbooks.

We've missed the church's namesake celebration by just a few days, but I'm sure I'll still be able to find plenty to photograph. Of course I haven' waited until we are there to start snapping pictures, not when there is so much natural beauty around every corner. But I think my uncomplaining tour guide is getting used to that. He pauses, uncomplaining, whenever I raise the camera up to my eye, and patiently waits until I'm ready to move on.

Quite a difference from my soon-to-be ex-husband. He was good about a couple of shots but if I spent any longer than that on the same subject he'd be half a mile away by the time I tried to catch up. For a moment I wonder what Joe's been doing, and where he is, but then I push all thoughts of him from my mind. If I start thinking about him I'm only going to wind up depressed and annoyed, and that's not how I want to feel while I'm over here in Italy. I'm here to enjoy myself to the max.

Content I've gotten enough shots of our approach to the church, I slide my camera strap over my shoulder and impulsively reach for Beck's hand. He doesn't jump or brush my hand away when our fingers touch, instead he holds his hand out until I grasp it then he gently grips my fingers. As we duck inside the cathedral, out of the heat of the day, we pause to allow our eyes to adjust from the bright sunlight to the dimly lit interior. And I stare open-mouthed at the mural of some kind of monster that seems to be half fish, half dragon. I snap a quick photo, not really sure if I'm supposed to be taking pictures inside and Beck comments that he wouldn't want to run into something like that in a dark alley.

The comment makes me giggle and I give his hand a squeeze. "Don't make me laugh. This is supposed to be a solemn place."

"Yes ma'am," he whispers and turns around to give me a wink. He's trying so hard to look repentant but instead just looks an awful lot like a little boy with his hand caught in a cookie jar and that just makes me laugh all over again.

Finally he leads me down the aisle toward the main altar and I gaze up at the soaring dome of the church, reaching skyward. "This is stunning," I comment and it's hard not to bring my camera up and take a picture. Finally I can't resist and after a quick glance around to make sure there are no signs banning photography, I do take several shots.
For the next little while, I snap a picture about every foot or so, Beck standing quietly beside me or whispering more facts about the church and the mosaics that have survived centuries. We eventually make our way to the front of the church. On the main alter, is a Black Madonna with child.

"It's from the twelfth century. There's a local legend that tells of a ship coming from the Far East that stopped in Positano and couldn't leave because of the weather. A voice told to sailors to leave the portrait of Our Lady. They obeyed, and then the winds allowed the ship to sail," Beck relates the legend then shrugs. "Not sure I believe that but it does make for a nice story."

I snap some pictures of the altar and the Madonna and when I'm finished Beck asks me if I'm ready to go, I start to nod my head yes, but then I notice the candles off to the side of the altar and I change my mind.

"Give me a few minutes. I want to light some candles." I hand Beck my camera bag and I walk over to them. It's one of the few rituals that has stuck with me from my childhood. I wasn't raised Catholic, but we did have candles at the church I grew up going to. I always liked the idea of lighting a candle in memory of those that have left us. It's a way of healing the past and bringing hope to the future.

Healing and hope: I could use a large dose of both of those. So I take a taper, light it on one of the already lit candles and use it to light three candles of remembrance; one each for Tommy, Griffin and Kent. Closing my eyes I say a quick prayer for each of them; then I light one more for hope.

What do I hope for these days?

Mostly I hope that one day I can put my past into perspective and move forward with a clear conscience and a zeal for living. I don't want to simply pass through life just settling.

I might sound greedy. But I want happiness and health, and yes, I even want another shot at true love.

Call me an optimist. There's nothing wrong with that.

***************