(PAM)

What a day. Beck and I slept in after out late night chat and didn't leave on the adventure he had planned for us today until almost noon. After about an hour however I could tell that Beck just didn't have his heart in it. There was no rattling off of facts both important and obscure. The easy teasing between us was also missing. We were uneasy with each other; it was like we crossed some unspoken barrier last night. I'm quite bummed out by the turn of events. The old me would have started asking Beck a hundred questions, trying to figure out w hat I could do to make it better. But the new me has decided not to sweat it and to give us both a little time and some space. So I suggested going back to the villa and just hanging out there for the afternoon. Beck quickly agreed and we made the drive back in record time.

Beck has retreated to his bedroom, And I'm trying to decide what I want to do, walking out to the terrace, the beautiful sea catches my eye and I think about going for a swim in the pool but that wouldn't be much fun by myself. While I know Beck would probably go with me just to be polite, that wouldn't be any fun either. For the first time since my arrival here, I'm feeling restless. Guess I'm not used to having no responsibilities at all. I could watch a movie or listen to my iPod but staying inside doesn't hold much appeal. No I'd much rather be outside.

Grabbing my camera, I knock on Beck's door, there's a grunt from inside so I tell him that I'm going outside to wander the grounds and take some pictures. He grunts again. I probably could have told him I was going to rob a bank and he wouldn't have cared. But I cut him some slack; he's obviously still struggling with whatever had him up last night.

Just as I'm about to open the door to the villa, my phone goes 'ding dong', letting me know I have a message. Pausing, I slide my phone out of my pocket and flip it open expecting to see that the message is from Dad. Instead I get a shock when I see it's actually from Morgan. What the? I'm tempted to delete it without even reading it but curiosity gets the better of me and I hit read instead.

And I'm very glad I did. "Pom, I miss you. Connor." Awwww, I miss him too and I quickly type exactly that right back, then head out the door. I've made it down to the main floor when my phone 'ding dongs' again. This time when I flip it open there is a picture there that stops me in my tracks.

Connor is in the picture, his hand up in the air caught mid wave. He's got an ear to ear grin as usual and behind him I can see a wide expanse of water. Looks like he's up at the cabin in Minnesota. That makes sense; they tend to spend at least part of the summer where Morgan grew up. That part of the photograph isn't unusual; it's the other person posing with Connor that has me taking a deep breath as my heart skips a beat.

Was there ever any question who Joe would run to?

Not in my mind. And there he is in full color, looking like he doesn't have a care in the world as he poses with his elder son. Never mind the fact he hasn't called me once in over a month; he also hasn't seen Jack during that time. But he can hot foot it to the wilds of Minnesota to be with his first wife and their children. It just figures.

I hate that I feel any emotion toward the man. He took everything I thought we had and ripped into little pieces with one sentence. A sentence I'll never forget as long as I live. And part of me hopes it's a good long time because I want to be able to remind Joe of it over and over again. I'll give him a !#%+!!+ mistake.

Realizing I've got quite the death grip on the phone I make a conscious effort to relax. Taking deep breaths I close my eyes and count to ten. More than once.

"Scusa, signorina, are you okay?"

Opening my eyes, I see the concierge from the hotel standing at my side.

"I'm fine thank you." I smile at him and walk away feeling anything but fine. Opening my phone again I torture myself by looking at the picture of Connor and Joe. And the more I look at it, the angrier I get at him and the way he's treated me. I've admitted several times to him that I let things between Chris and I get out of hand, but he's never once admitted that he wasn't as lily white as he'd likes t o paint himself. Why can't he admit that his fear of being vulnerable had as much to do with our marriage breaking up as anything?

You know what I should do? I should forward this picture to Chris, apparently he's not anywhere near Minnesota. Would serve him right to know that Saint Morgan is apparently shacking up with my husband.

But unfortunately I'm not that vindictive, the only thing it would do is make me feel better for the amount of time it would take to send the picture. Then I'd feel like #!$%. So the phone goes back into my pocket and I force myself to focus on the beauty around me instead of the ugliness that is the end of my marriage.

Following the terrace around to the sea side of the hotel property, I pause and decide whether to head up to the Hibiscus terrace, or to continue downwards for a water view. The water wins out and I slowly make my way along the gravel path. It's an easy walk and I lose count of the number of times I pause to take a photograph. Looks like I'll be downloading more pictures onto the laptop. Can't help wondering if Beck will be interested in looking at them all.

I spend close to an hour on the private platform overlooking the water. There's a couple of deck chairs and table covered by a roof. That keeps a lot of the afternoon sun off me and I'm grateful for the cool breeze blowing in off the Mediterranean. It would be wonderful to have dinner here one evening; I bet the sunset is spectacular.

Reluctantly I decide to leave this tranquil spot, but there are bound to be a lot more opportunities for me to exercise my camera and I don't want to waste any. Retracing my earlier footsteps, this time I decide to go to the Hibiscus Terrace to see if there are any nice blooms. I'm lucky the place is almost deserted. There have been a few people I've come across during my wanderings but I suppose most of the guests are in town, busy shopping or enjoying the local delicacies.

That reminds me, we've yet to sample any of the famous Amalfi lemons yet. Beck has been raving about a drink called Limoncello and even though he says it's pretty potent, I'd like to try it. Hey, I'm on vacation, there's nothing wrong with being a little indulgent now and then is there? I make a note to order some at dinner; we can have it right here at the hotel and then it will only be a few steps to stumble back to our rooms if necessary. No need to figure out who gets to be the designated driver.

Moving up the stone steps and rounding the corner onto the terrace I just about walk full tilt into another tourist. Instantly saying, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there; I back up a step and give an apologetic smile.

And do a double take.

What the hell is Chris Gaines doing here? This is my vacation. My time away from all the crap back home. I didn't travel over five thousand miles just to run into him. He is the very last person I wanted to see. Hell, running into Joe would have been easier to handle. Why isn't he back in Minnesota looking after his wife? Surely he didn't follow me here thinking he could take up where he left off on my couch that night? Like hell.

"Pam, is that you?" he asks in surprise.

I can barely see past the anger seething inside me. And before he can ask me anything else or give me some sob story about how Morgan is mistreating him and he once again needs me to make him feel better, I take a step closer to him, raise my hand and slap him hard across the cheek.

Before I can stalk away from him, Chris grabs my elbow keeping me from moving. "What the %+%@ was that for?"

"Think about it for a minute or two and you might be able to figure it out," I say angrily, and yank my elbow away from him. I don't want him touching me any more. I start to walk away, but stop and turn around, and can't resist saying, "Oh you know that CD you sent me, the one with all the love songs on it, I threw it way. It's now residing in a trash can at a gas station."

Without waiting to see how that bit of news affects him, I walk away leaving him standing there.

Something I should have done a hell of a long time ago.

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

(PAM)

I really wasn't in the mood to go out for dinner, I was more in the mood to start grabbing the vases and other breakables around the villa and start smashing them as I pretended I was throwing them all at Chris. Come to think if it maybe that's the reason Beck suggested he make up for ditching me earlier today by taking me out to dinner.

So I put on the one dress I've brought with me. It's the ubiquitous little black dress. What else would you wear in Italy for dinner? I may hail from the wilds of Oklahoma, but I know what looks good on me. And it's this dress. The neckline is a demure scoop, the perfect setting for one of my favorite necklaces: an antique silver filigree circle, on a sterling silver chain. All the drama on this dress is in the back where there's a deep vee. Some matching earrings, a couple bangle bracelets, and some killer sandals and I'm ready to go.

Stepping out into the living room from my bedroom, I find Beck standing in the doorway to the terrace; he's wearing a beautifully tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt. It's quite the change from the more casual outfits he's been sporting. The shirt is open at the collar.

"Wow, you clean up quite nicely," I tell him as I cross the floor over to where he's standing.

"I was just going to say the same about you." He smiles, his dimples obvious.

"Thank you," I say and smile right back at him. Looks like he's in a better mood finally, guess he's worked through whatever was bothering him earlier and that's a good thing.

"How about a pre-dinner drink while we watch the sunset?" he asks and I notice the small table outside on the terrace is set with a wine bottle and two glasses.

"That sounds like a good idea." The way I'm feeling right now, I'm not really sure one bottle is going to be enough. If ever there was a time I wanted to forget my problems, today is the day. And I'm sure Beck will join right in.

He moves aside so that I can precede him out the French doors. When I walk by him he whistles softly as he gets glimpse of the back of my dress. I smile a little to myself, nothing wrong with wanting to feel attractive around a good looking man.

Beck pours us both a healthy amount of wine and holds up his in a toast, "To a quiet evening and to understanding friends."

I clink my glass against his. "I'll drink to that." Considering the violence I was contemplating earlier, this is a nice change. If Chris thinks I'm even going to give him a second thought, he's leaving in a dream world. But even as I'm telling myself that, I find myself wondering if his presence here is mere coincidence or if he really has come after me. The moment I think that, I instantly dismiss it. How ridiculous that would be, especially since he's never given any indication he'd ever even considered leaving his wife for me. And what's more, I've never expected him to.

Chris Gaines is not the kind of man to build a future around. He lacks the staying power and hell, the morals, to stick with one woman. He proved that when he showed up at my house that night.

"You look like you're contemplating crashing that wine bottle over someone's head and I guess it's probably mine." I blink and focus on Beck's face, realizing he's talking to me.

"No, not at all." I shake my head and take another sip of my wine. "There's nothing to forgive you for. When you invited me over here, I didn't expect to spend every second of every night and day hanging out. You need your space, and time to work on your book," I tell him.

"That's true I do, but I still could have handled it better than I did," he replies before taking another sip of his wine. "Where did you disappear to anyway?"

"I was taking pictures of course." I laugh and walk over to the railing on the terrace. "Got some great shots of the sea," I say as I look in that direction. Turning back around to face Beck, I add with a wink. "Play your cards right I might just let you see them later."

Beck laughs. "I thought it was supposed to be the guy inviting the woman up to see his etchings."

"Women's lib and all that," I reply and realize just how glad I am that the teasing tone is back in our exchanges again.

We finish our wine and decide that it's time to go to dinner. Once we are outside Beck takes my hand in his as we leisurely walk to the restaurant he's chosen. It's beautiful outside, warm with just a hint of breeze wafting the scent of lemons as we walk.

And once we're seated at a small table in a quiet corner of a little restaurant and look over the menu, it seems as though those lemons are still on our minds. "I think I'll have the spaghetti al limone," I tell Beck and close my menu.

"That sounds like a plan. I'll have the same. Should we order an appetizer as well?"

"I don't know," I say demurely, folding my hands together on the table in front of me. "I should probably refuse in case you think I' eat too much for a delicate female."

"As if." He snorts. "Besides I admire a woman with a healthy appetite. We're in Italy." He waves a hand around him in a circle. "I'd hope you'd enjoy the food."

"Oh I plan to," I tell him. "So let's order an appetizer." Grabbing the menu out of his hand, I grin and say, "I'll pick."

Knowing Beck's penchant for enjoying several different flavors, I actually pick three different appetizers: Pizza Fritta with Tomato Sauce, Artichoke hearts, and the Mozzarella in Carrozza. There is a small refrigerator in the Villa where we can stash any leftovers and they will make for great midnight snacking.

The waiter arrives and once again I get to enjoy Beck's command of Italian. I swear I could listen to him recite the most boring textbook as long as he was speaking Italian.

"So we have a few minutes before the appetizers arrive. You want to tell me what had you slamming doors when you came back from your picture taking expedition?" Beck asks.

"Not really but I suppose if I don't you'll just use those superior reporter skills of yours to wear me down until I finally do." I joke.

"I might, or I might just let you have the space you allowed me earlier today." He counters.

I know I could tell him that I really don't want to talk about it and he would back off, somehow that actually makes it easier to talk. Taking a deep breath I say, "I ran into Chris, literally."

"Chris? You mean Chris Gaines? Here? In Amalfi?"

"Yes, yes, and yes. In the flesh, at our hotel."

"What the hell is he doing here?" Beck asks and then holds up his hands. "No, wait, I guess that's pretty obvious. He's here looking for you."

"I'm not going to say I haven't thought of that possibility, no matter how ridiculous it might be. But he got quite the surprise. I didn't exactly greet him warmly."

The waiter reappears with a bottle of wine, and our appetizers and I fall silent as the food is laid out before us. It's growing darker, Italians have a habit of late dinners and the waiter takes a moment to light the white candle in the middle of our table, casting a golden glow over the various dishes. I suppose we could spend the rest of the evening discussing Chris and trying to figure out his motives and what possibly makes him tick. But in a heartbeat I'm reminded where I am and the last thing I want to do is ruin my vacation talking about a man who has basically taken my friendship and thrown it away like so much garbage.

Reaching across the table I grasp Beck's hand just as he's reaching for the serving spoon. "You know what I'd really like to do right now?"

"Tell me," he says, and as he blinks I can't help noticing his long dark eyelashes. There are hundreds of women, myself included, who would probably kill to have eyelashes like that. I've got a good looking man in front of me, someone who's proving himself to be an excellent companion and I'm not even spending a moment thinking about another man.

I'm might be dumb sometimes, but I've never been stupid. And I'm certainly not going to start now. "Let's stop talking about Chris, or anyone from home, and just enjoy the evening," I suggest. "Great food, excellent wine, a fascinating dinner companion, what more could a girl ask for?"

Beck stares at me for a minute, probably wondering if he can somehow get the conversation back where he wants it to be, but he's not stupid either, he blinks and says, "Maybe a kiss on the front porch?"

That cracks me up. "You just never give up do you?"

"Nope, it's the secret to my success."

I just shake my head and pick up an appetizer; this is going to be an interesting evening.

**********

(PAM)

Something jars me awake and I sit up in my bed, heart racing as I hear the sound again. Disconcerted by my sudden awakening and the dark unfamiliar room, I start imagining the worst. What if someone has broken into the villa? Grabbing a handful of blanket with suddenly cold fingers, I try to remember if there's anything I can use as a weapon in here. A book, or something heavy on the dresser, perhaps.

Damn, why did I close the shutters before I went to bed, at least if I'd left them open there'd be a sliver of moonlight left for me to gain my bearings. But instead I find myself straining my eyes, trying to determine if shadows in the corners are just that, or some dangerous threat. Then there's a shout, followed by a cry that makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. That sounded like Beck!

Adrenaline pumps through me and I push myself off the bed, determined to find out what's going on. Taking a deep breath, I bravely shove my door open and step out into the sitting area between our two rooms. Beck's bedroom door is closed and everything in this room is just the way it was earlier in the evening. It doesn't look like anyone has snuck into the villa. Nothing looks disturbed.

Then there's a string of curses followed by another shout from Beck's room and I quickly cross the tiled floor, reaching for his door handle. Another deep breath and I'm flinging the door open only to find Beck alone. He's flat on his bed, thrashing from side to side as he shouts and swears, most of it completely unintelligible.
It's obvious he's having a nightmare and a pretty bad one judging by the thrashing and the shouting. It's such a strange sight to see him so totally out of control, that for a moment I'm frightened. I know what to do if one of the kids has a nightmare, I gather them in my arms, rub their backs and talk softly to them. But I'm afraid to touch Beck what if he thinks he's still back in Iraq being held hostage and he strikes out at me?

In the few seconds that all this is running through my head, Beck cries out again and the sound of it has me wanting to cry as well. It's that sound that finally has me moving to the side of his bed. I try calling his name but it doesn't seem to make a difference. So I move even closer and try again, this time he goes still at the sound of his name. That encourages me to sit on the side of the bed, but when the mattress moves he's back to thrashing again and shouting.

"Beck, wake up. It's okay Beck, you're safe," I murmur over and over again, moving a little closer to him. My leg nudges his and that sets off another round of curses and the worst thrashing yet. "Beck!" I almost shout. I want him to wake up. I want him away from that dark place.

He suddenly sits up and grabs me. Hard. And I call his name again. I can't keep the note of fear out of my voice but I don't back down either.

"Its okay, its me. Pam. I'm right here, Beck. You're okay, you're in Italy, you're safe." He eases his grip on my arms a little and I keep talking, just murmuring to him. "It's just a dream, Beck. Its not real. You're safe and sound. Look around. See? You're in your bedroom at the villa. We're in Amalfi and there's no one here but me and you. There's nothing to be scared of. Nothing at all."

He makes a noise, something that sounds like a strangled hiccup, as he slowly lets go of me and runs his hands over his face. "I'm okay," he mutters back. "I'm okay."

"Yes you are. You're fine, Beck." Feeling a little bolder, I tentatively reach out my own hand, gently and briefly touching his bare shoulder. When he doesn't flinch I finally do start to rub his back.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, still hiding behind his hands.

"Sorry for what? That you had a nightmare? It's nothing to be sorry for. You can't help what happened to you," I tell him.

"That's the thing, I could have. I knew I was treading where I wasn't wanted, that I was poking around where I shouldn't have been. But I had to get just one more interview, tell just one more story." He finally drops his hands and looks at me. The shutters in his room are open and in the moonlight I can see that the haunted look is back in his eyes. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make it all disappear for him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask him. "It might help."

"I don't think I can share it with you. It was too horrible, Pam, you don't need that burden."

I know he means well but his words bring back memories of Joe bottling up all the worry and the pain of his cancer and look how that turned out. I can't let Beck do that.

"Please talk to me Beck. I've seen what happens when someone thinks they are strong enough to deal with something all by themselves. I've seen what it does to them and to everyone around them. Please don't do that."

"What do you want me to tell you?" He cries out, his voice so full on anguish, I cringe. "Do you want me to tell you how they blocked the road we were driving down. That men in balaclavas with guns bundled me into the trunk of their car after shooting my driver and translator in the head in front of me? Do you want me to tell you what it was like to be blindfolded and tied up and stuffed into that trunk like a bag of garbage?" He's agitated now and unable to sit still as he recounts his memories of that time, he gets up off the bed and starts to pace, his bare feet smacking against the tiled floor.

I want to do something to help him, but somehow I think the best thing I can do is sit here and listen.

He's growing angrier and his voice rises. "Have you ever been strip searched? Or thrown into a concrete bunker with your hands tied and men with guns standing guard over you? Have you ever spent hours expecting to be shot, or beheaded, at any moment?

I have to swallow hard to keep the sobs from wanting to escape; tears aren't going to do either one of us any good right now. Even though shedding them are exactly what I want to do. I hate that he had to go through that, I hate that he can't sleep peacefully at night, I hate that even here in a place he's come to numerous times to find some peace its no longer able to give him that.

"Of course I haven't. Should I go out and experience those horrors so that you'll feel better talking to me? I've saw the tape they made and released of you. I've read the stories of other hostages, I know that's no where near the same as experiencing it first hand, but I want to help you Beck. You're my friend and I can't stand to see you like this, and this is all I know how to do. "

For a minute I think he's going to tell me to go back to room to go back to sleep but he doesn't, instead he starts talking again, staring straight ahead at the wall across the room.

"I had to prove that I was a reporter and not working with the Americans or the British, so I did the only thing I could think of, I used one of their laptops to show them how to search my name to prove I really was a reporter. I tried to show them that I was determined to report on all sides of the war. They would untie me so I could eat or use the toilet in the corner of the room, but most of the time I was bound. And watched constantly. I couldn't sleep. When I was forced to make that damn video, I was more worried about everyone back home seeing than about me. I knew that any one I cared about...." He looks back at me. "... would be scared to death that I wasn't going to make it home. I had to stop thinking about all of you, it was too painful. That was one of the hardest things, because normally thoughts s of home are a comfort when I'm over there and even that was taken away from me. All I could think about was trying to find a way to win over my captors to keep them from killing me."

I think of other kidnappings and hostage takings I've heard about over the years. They've talked about the Stockholm Syndrome and how in situations like that the captives often begin to feel sympathy toward their captors. Is that what happened to Beck? Did he start to think the men who took him had a legitimate reason to do so?

Anger flares in me and I want to tell him there is no legitimate reason to kidnap someone and hold them captive and terrorize them until they wind up not being able to sleep because of nightmares. But this isn't my story to tell, it's Beck and he deserves the chance to tell it without anyone throwing in their two cents.

"What did you do?" I ask.

"I talked to them about my family. I wanted them to see me as a human being not just something to be traded or sold for their benefit. "I told them about my Mom and Dad, and my brother and sister. I talked about my childhood. I rattled on really. But they talked about their families as well, we told each other stories." For the first time he halts his pacing and leans against the wall as if it's the only thing keeping him on his feet. Closing his eyes, he continues, "They fed me well, too much food actually. I didn't have much of an appetite. One guard even took me outside one day and had me exercise with him. There we were doing jumping jacks in the yard as helicopters full of soldiers flew overhead. Every time they tied me back up, they apologized as if they were actually sorry they had to keep me like that."

"They didn't have to keep you like that, Beck. They did have a choice and they didn't make it." I can't hold my tongue any more. I don't want to picture the kidnappers as any other human being with a mother or father or wife. To me they're worse than animals; simply savages who use fear and threats to try to get what they want.

"They feel like they have no choice, that they have to do this to bring attention to their so called cause. Every couple days they would send in a different guard to watch me. That's when I would get manhandled. There never seemed to be a reason for it. If I looked at him the wrong way, or didn't respond quick enough to a demand I'd get kicked or punched or feel the butt of a gun in my back. Then when he'd apparently had all the fun he could stand the friendly guard would come back. There was no schedule to the good guard bad guard routine. Sometimes it would happen several times in the same day. Then it would go back to a string of days. It was a form of torture in itself."

I truly don't know what to say or do now. So there's silence between that stretches into minutes. Then Beck starts talking again.

"As the days piled up, I started to think that I was never going to be released or rescued. I expected each day to be my last. When it wasn't I started plotting ways to try and escape and I swear they could sense that because I was never left alone, even at night there was a guard with me. Just about the time I was considering asking them why they didn't just get it over with and kill me, they blindfolded me, loaded me into a car, drove for what seemed like hours, then kicked me out of the car; blindfold and handcuffs still in place and drove away. Luckily for me a troop convoy came along shortly after that or you might have been attending yet another funeral this year."

I can't help the cry that escapes me and before I can think about it or change my mind I'm up off the bed, crossing the room and wrapping my arms around Beck.

He might think he can get through this simply by being stoic and recounting the facts when pressed to do so, but I'm not about to simply stand by and be a silent witness. If I can somehow comfort him, I have to try.

I just want him to know he's not alone. I'm here for him.

********

(BECK)

Pam pulls away from me and all I want to do is beg her to stay. To beg her to keep holding me and trying to convince me everything will be all right again. I've held back for so long. After those first few days of freedom when I had to recount my story over and over again for military official, doctors, my bosses at the network, then for my family, I vowed not to talk about it any more. As if staying silent would somehow lessen the ordeal's effect on me.

And it did help me to cope. I could push the memories of that time into the deep dark recesses of my mind and try to ignore the occasions they'd want to come out and play. Then the book deal was pitched and I grabbed for it. I convinced myself It would be the way to ensure my side of the story was told without propaganda or ulterior motives. I could somehow use my story for good. I could make a difference and maybe I could prevent someone else from falling into the same trap of false security that I had.

But since I've started the damn book, I've regretted it. I've regretted taking the outrageous advance. Doing so has brought back everything: the nightmares, the sounds and smells and fears. Every day I wonder if I c an back out, give the money back; forget about this whole project.

But I know I won't. I'm too stubborn. I'm too proud to admit defeat. I keep trying to tell myself its just a book. It's just words on paper. There's nothing to be scared of; it's not some boogeyman waiting in the dark to pounce.

"Do you think you'll be able to get some sleep now?' Pam is asking and I focus on her face and swallow hard.

"I-I- I don't know," I say honestly and reach out to take hold of her hand. Just the touch of her skin against mine is reassuring. She's an anchor to hold me in this world.

"Well you can't pace around all night; you need to get some sleep, Beck." She sounds so calm, so tender. I imagine this is the way she talks to Katy and Jack when they're having a rough night and suddenly I envy those two children more than anything in this world.

"I know." I say softly. But I'm not looking forward to returning to bed only to find myself in the midst of another nightmare. Wonder what she would think if I asked her to stay with me? To spend the night with me? Would she think I was using t his as an excuse to make a move on her? Or would she understand that I simply don't want to be alone? I guess there's only one way to find out. She's rolled with the flow since we got here, hopefully she will now too.

"Pam?"

"Yes?" she answers.

"I need to ask you something but I don't want you to take it the wrong way...." My voice trails off and I find myself looking everywhere but at her.

"Just ask me Beck."

"Would you stay with me tonight? Sleep in here. With me. I'm not looking for anything but your company. Your honor is safe with me," I say gallantly, fully expecting her to say no. Hell I'd say no if our roles were reversed, I sound like a complete idiot.

But to my surprise she nods at me.

"Yes?" I say, and hope I haven't just given her a chance to change her mind.

"If it means you'll sleep soundly, then yes." She points to the bed. "Now climb under those blankets and remember, my honor is at stake." She sounds totally serious then as I'm just about to pull the covers over myself, she starts to laugh and the sound is like a balm to my tortured soul.

"Don't see what's so funny," I complain just for good measure as she comes around to my side of the bed, tucking in the blanket so tightly I half expect her to bounce a lira off them just to make sure they're taut enough. "And0Ahey, I kind of need to breathe."

"Just want you to feel cozy and secure."

"Aren't you supposed to be helping with that?" I suggest and pat the mattress beside me. "Lots of room, hop up."

No w she does look like she's having second thoughts, but then she takes a deep breath and does indeed climb up onto the bed. It takes her a few minutes to get the pillows situated the way she wants them, then she's settling down and pulling the covers up over herself. She's lying on her side facing me, and I know I should try and get some shut eye but I don't want to risk it. So instead I decide to try and get to know the woman lying beside me a little better.

"Where is the one spot on earth you would go if money was no object?" I ask her and I suddenly feel like some cheesy daytime TV talk show host.

"Hmm, I've been to some great places=2 0in the past few years. I'd love to go back to Australia again, see more of the country. Really take my time and see more of it. Same with Ireland. My Dad was born there, Griffin obviously was born there, I'd love a chance to get to know more of that side of my family better."

"That's cheating you've already been to those two places. Isn't there anywhere you'd like to go that you've never bee n?"

"Not really, I've never really had the urge to travel all that much. Although you wouldn't know that by looking at my passport." She laughs. "Let's see I've been to Belize, France, Australia, Ireland twice and now Italy. Oh and Canada."

That perks me up. "You've been to Canada? Where?"

"Train trip from Calgary to Vancouver a couple years ago. We went through the Rockies. Talk about beautiful."

"It really is. I spent a few summers in Banff, working at the Banff Springs Hotel," I tell her.

"We stayed there. And at the Chateau Lake Louise."

By we I'm going to hazard a guess she means her and Joe. But hey I could be wrong, for all I know maybe she spent some time there with Chris; he's toured Canada more than a few times. I don't think it would be out of the realm of possibility for Pam to have met up with him in some far off Canadian city.

"The trip was a Christmas present from my Dad. He came along with Joe and I and Katy. It should have been an amazing trip. And I guess it would have been but my Dad wanted Lily and Connor to be there too so he invited Morgan and Chris to come along. It was quite the interesting trip.

"I can only imagine," I reply, trying to picture the four adults trying to get along for the children's sake. But reminiscing about a long ago trip isn't really what's on my mind. Taking a chance, I ask, "So what happened between you and Chris today?"

"Not much really, I literally ran into him as I was walking to the hibiscus garden. I slapped him up alongside his head, told him that I threw away the CD he sent me and then walked away from him."

"You slugged him, insulted him, then walked away?" Given what I've seen of her relationship with Gaines, I find that a little hard to believe. But if she says that's the way it happened, then that's exactly what happened.

"Bingo," she confirms. "I don't have anything else to say to him. I can't even believe he's shown his face here.

I've been wondering that myself. It could be coincidence. Or it could be because a beautiful, caring woman is here as well. A woman he definitely has deep feelings for. Why do I suddenly want to keep her here and protect her? But instead of telling her that, I hear myself say, "Don't you think it would be better to talk to him?"

"Talk to him?" She bursts out. "I don't want to see him any more much less have a conversation with him."

"I really think you need to talk to him. If for no other reason than to find out why he treated you the way he did."

Pam turns onto her stomach and stares at the headboard.

"After I slapped him he actually had the gall to ask me why? He doesn't even realize what he did, Beck. He has no idea how much he hurt me; it's something he and Joe have in common actually. And I have no desire to explain it all too him. It's too much effort. Just let it go Beck. Although, on second thought I could tell him what his wife has been up too while he's gone. She's shacking up in Minnesota with my husband. Once again he ran to her. I'm tired of all three of them. Sick to death of them."

"Whoa, what? Joe is in Minnesota with Morgan?" I think I'm sorry I brought this up as Pam explains receiving the photo of Joe and Connor.

"I know I should care less where he is, our divorce will be final soon."

"But it still hurts," I interject and to my surprise she doesn't disagree. Sliding down the bed until we're eye to eye, I softly say, "I think you and I have an awful lot more in common than either of us have realized. I know the situations aren't the same, but we're both trying to get past bad experiences."

"You're sweet to compare us, but I was hardly held hostage, Beck."

"I have an idea."

"What?"

"Tomorrow I'm going to write the first chapter of the damn book. And tomorrow you're going to go talk to Chris." Before she can argue, I fluff up my pillow and lay my head down. "And now its time to go to sleep. Both of us."

She wants to argue, I can tell she does. But she doesn't and for the first time in weeks I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

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

(CHRIS)

I've just finished getting dressed after taking a shower when I hear someone knocking at the front door. Jogging across the living room, I open the door and get quite the surprise when I see who is on the other side. No way was I expecting to see her, not after what happened the last time we were together.

I step aside and motion for her to come inside; then close the villa door behind her.

"Don't get excited that I'm here. This wasn't my idea; I'm only here because I made a deal with someone.

"It's nice to see you too," I drawl.

"Whatever," she says waving her hand around. She walks over to the doors leading to the terrace and stares out at the view for a few long minutes. It's killing me to stay where I am, and let her find the words to explain why she's here. When the silence is almost too much to take and I'm about ready to start babbling to fill it, she turns around and asks, "Do you have any clue why I slapped you yesterday?"

"Don't suppose it was because you were happy to see me." I raise an eyebrow then just as quickly drop it when she doesn't even crack a smile. Talk about a tough crowd. Deciding two can play this game, I ask a question of my own. "How did you find out where I was staying? I'm not registered under my own name."

"What? Not happy to see me?" She gives me a mocking smile.

Why do I get the feeling she's not going to let me charm her into a good mood this time? Sighing, I go over to the couch and sit down. Might as well be comfortable during the Inquisition. "Let's see, you slapped me because I'm a dirty, rotten no-good piece of $%!@ who took advantage of you." If I'm blunt maybe we can end this line of questioning sooner and move on.

"I thought of other more colorful ways to describe you, Chris, but yes, that pretty much sums up the way I feel about you then." To add insult to injury she continues, "And now."

"Okay, since we've agreed I get to ask a question. "Given the way you feel about me why did you go out of your way to find me?" I waggle my eyebrows at her. "Eager for a replay with the bad boy?"

"Go to hell, Chris."

"Already there, baby, already there," I say bleakly.

"You must like it there; you seem to do everything possible to stay there," she remarks. "Okay the sooner I get this over with the sooner I can get on with my life. Why did you record that CD Chris? Why now? Why bother?"

I had a feeling she'd bring up the CD again and for a moment I consider lying about my reasons for recording those songs for her. But what's the point in lying. I've done more than my fair share of that and look where it's got me. "I recorded those songs especially for you, some of them I wrote, others I didn't, but they spoke to how I felt. I correct myself, "How I feel about you." Here's to being honest.

If I was expecting some softening in her attitude with that answer, I'm sorely disappointed. If anything she gets angrier and I'm right back to thinking it would have been easier to just lie.

"No you didn't. You wrote those songs for this imaginary woman who sits around waiting for you to drop by, for this woman who has no problem being your piece on the side, a woman who has no self esteem and is happy with crumbs from your table. That woman isn't me. Not anymore."

I want to tell her that woman has never been her. If it was our relationship would be far less complicated than it is. But is she really going to stand there and listen to me tell her I'm not attracted to the woman she's describing? If she was the doormat she's trying to tell me she's been, I wouldn't have given her a second glance; especially when it's her spirit and her passion that even now has me wanting to annoy her more just to see those flashing eyes and flushed cheeks.
Standing up again, I slide my thumbs into my pockets and regard her. "I wrote those songs for a woman who excites me, who turns me on in a million different ways-from the way she walks to the way she touches me and especially the way her skin feels against my skin." My voice grows lower and I take a step toward Pam just to see what she'll do. "I wrote those songs for the woman who keeps me thinking about her every single day."

"Stop it Chris. Just stop it," she says; her voice loud. "I can't do this with you anymore. I can't listen to the sweet talk anymore. Do you have any idea how much you hurt me that night? That was the first time a man ever made me feel like the %!*%@ my Father always told me I was."

I cringe at her choice of words.

But she doesn't stop there, she continues, "You used me. For whatever reason you used me without a second thought. And then you walked away and simply left without a backwards glance. Without an explanation, without a $+$#!** apology!" I open my mouth to respond but she holds up her hand and harshly says, "NO! I don't want to hear it now, Chris. I don't want to hear how your wife doesn't understand you and how she turns to my husband for support and whatever else she turns to him for. There's no excuse for what you did to me. NO EXCUSE!"

"You're right."

"What did you say?" she rages.

"I said you're right. You are right. What else can I say, Pam? What do you want me to do? Go to the cops, say I raped you? Suffer the consequences?"

She walks right up to me, mere inches away and in the blink of an eye brings her hand up and halts its forward motion the minute she touches my cheek. "You are such a bastard."

"I know," I say softly. "You won't believe me, but I think about what I did to you that night and I regret it. I'll regret it for the rest of m y life. You were always there for me, always. I've come up with a million different apologies, Pam, but I know none of them are going to make it better." I know she's not going to believe me but I have to say it to her any way. Does she know how many times I've replayed that night in my mind?

"You're right nothing you can say is going to make it better. Maybe time will help, I don't know." She says shaking her head. Then she takes a deep breath and changes the subject. "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Vacation." I tell her.

"By yourself?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

I look around at the villa. "Do you see Morgan or anyone else here?" I answer sarcastically. "Maybe I needed some time by myself."

"You hate being alone almost as Garth does, so don't feed me that line of bull, besides since when do you not take any chance to be with Bella when you are off the road?"

I use a trick form Morgan's play book; I evade the question and turn it back on Pam. "Well I do know I didn't come here to talk about myself, what about you? Why are you here?"

Apparently Pam has been reading the same book because she just glares at me for a moment before answering the question. "Not that it's any of your business but I'm here on a working vacation."

"That response just leaves it open to the imagination. But I guess I can't resist, "Exactly what are you working on?"

"Oh get your mind out of the gutter Chris, I know that's asking a lot but do it anyway. I'm taking pictures of the area for a book. And what are you really doing here? Italy is hardly a place I'd expect you to be visiting without your blushing bride." The sarcasm just drips from her mouth.

"Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, my blushing bride, as you put it, and I have decided joint vacations are no longer necessary. So she's away on her own, and me, I'm away on my own. The perfect arrangement." I give a little bow.

"You almost make it sound like you prefer it that way."

"Why wouldn't I? Less stress, less drama." Guess its my turn for sarcasm. But then I can't keep up the facade any longer. She may be bitter and angry with me but I'm exactly the opposite with her. Softening my tone, I give Pam a long look, then I close my eyes. "I didn't expect to run into you here, Pam. I had no idea you were over here. But did you ever stop to think it just might be fate? Without arranging it we've turned up together in the same place at the same time...."

Pam interrupts. "Give me a break, we've ran into one another at the grocery store before."

"That's not what I meant. Think about it, Pam. What are the odds that we'd choose the same hotel in the same small town in the same country, for goodness sakes. It's not just a strange coincidence;, it's got to be more than that."

"Chris...." She starts, then looks away, runs a hand through her hair and stares off into space. "It's just a coincidence that we are both here, Nothing more nothing less. If I hadn't been out taking pictures we never would have known the other was here. It was pure chance. There's too much history between us for us to ever be together."

I take a deep breath and try to hold it. But I can't do it. I open my mouth to exhale and the words come tumbling out. "Do you really truly believe that? Or is there a chance that everything that's happened between us has just been the preface? The start of a real relationship? A chance to take our histories and merge them together."

***********

(CHRIS)

I slide an arm around Pam's waist and think about tugging her closer. Then fearing another clout to the side of my head, I just as quickly let go of her and thank her once again. "Lunch is good, and there are tons of great restaurants around here."

"And you know this how? Thought you'd never been to Amalfi before?" she challenges. Didn't think she'd let me off too easy.

Adjusting my sunglasses, I ignore the threat of bodily harm and grab her hand, sliding my fingers between hers. "Yeah, well maybe I'm just naturally smart." Before she can disagree with that, I add, "Or maybe I just read an article in a magazine on the plane raving about all the food choices in this area."

"That sounds a lot more realistic, considering I can't even picture you sitting around, thumbing through a guidebook."

"Hey I'm more than just another pretty rock star face," I tell her, knowing damn well that's not going to impress her at all. That0s one thing I've always loved about Pam. She could care less what I do for a living; she felt the same way about Tommy too. But then I've been lucky, most of the women in my life have seen through the trappings of the lifestyle and be interested in the man.

But trust Pam to have to be contrary. "Sometimes I wonder about that." She comes to a halt and I have no choice but to do the same, unless I want to tug her down the cobblestone street. "Okay, we've walked past about half a dozen cafes and restaurants. Pick one. I don't really want to spend the whole day walking."

"Bossy, bossy, bossy," I mutter but I look from one side of the street to the other. "Left or right."

"You were picking, remember?"

"Well excuse me for wanting to let you in on the decision making."

"Hey, I'm just along for the ride, or walk," she corrects herself. "You're choosing, Mr. Expert."

"Fine. We're going there." I point to a small café with only a few tables gathered around some potted lemon trees, and then before she can offer up some alternatives, I steer her in the right direction, holding out her chair for her. Then tug the other chair at the table closer to hers.

Once I'm settled, I take advantage of my sunglasses and study her. She looks lovely today, jeans that fit just right, a vintage tee shirt and pumps that make her as tall as I am. I wonder if she wore those on purpose? To put her on a more even footing with me. Our talk earlier this morning didn't come close to solving every way that we went wrong, but hopefully it's a new beginning for us. My musings are interrupted by the arrival of the waiter with menus.

He explains the specials for the day, without ever once looking at me; he only has eyes for Pam. Is she flirting with him? What the hell? I'm sitting right here.

After he leaves I say, "Well, I guess I don't have to leave him a tip now."

Pam just sticks her tongue out at me and looks back at her menu.

I frown and toss my menu toward the middle of the table. "Please tell me you can read Italian and can suggest something to order."

"Order spaghetti, they must have that," she says in a mocking tone.

"Good choice, I think I'll do that. And you? What are you going to have?"

"Maybe they have pizza." She gives a shrug, looks over at me then starts to laugh. "Anyone listening to us would think we either can't stand one another or…." She pauses and looks back down at her menu.

I finish the sentence for her. "Or they'll think we're just another married couple bantering back and forth."

"I guess we're somewhere in between those two extremes. We're no longer friends and a long way from lovers. We're more like a couple that know they are bad for each other and yet they can't stay away from each other."

"You were never bad for me, Pam. In fact for a while there you were very, very good for me. You kept me grounded when I was in serious danger of heading for the dark side again. And I took advantage of your feelings for me and that's my biggest regret, that I hurt you."

Before she has a chance to answer the waiter comes back asking if we are ready to order, I start to tell him that we need another few minutes but Pam interrupts.

"I'm hungry and I'm ready to order."

She surprises me by ordering in fairly decent Italian.

"Grazie, signorina." The waiter smiles and takes his leave.

"Do I get to know what you ordered for us?" I ask her. "And did you tell the waiter to poison mine?"

"Don't tempt me." She snaps. "I ordered spaghetti, just like you wanted."

"Fine, fine, great in fact. Thank you." I guess the time has finally come for us to have the conversation I've been trying to put off. "I've apologized. Several times in fact, what more do you need to hear from me?" Might as well get right into it. "But I guess you deserve me to be more specific." I look to make sure she's actually listening to me. I wouldn't blame her if she just got up and walked away, but she's stuck with me this far, guess she wants to know what else I plan to say.

"That's a good idea."

"I need to apologize for letting things get so out of hand between us."

But she isn't going to make it easy. She interrupts to say, "I'm just as guilty and I'm not going to let you take all the blame. All the confidence you had in me, asking me to take your CD photos, always supporting my ideas, was sexy. Joe always held part of himself back from me and the distance between us just kept growing and growing. But there you were one hundred percent focused on me when we were together. You listened. You cheered me on."

There's immediate tension at her words and it has nothing to do with anger. She's right; whenever we were together I was focused on her. "How could I not be? You're beautiful and funny and smart as hell." My voice is barely above a whisper.

"Thank you," she says with a slight smile. "But you can't keep saying things like that any more; we can't be alone like this any more. It wouldn't take very much for me to fall head over heels in love with you but I won't be part of tearing Lily and Connor's world apart. And I sure as hell won't be in a relationship with another man that is love with Morgan."

I'm not going to lie and say I'm not secretly thrilled inside that I've affected her enough for her to consider the children and how a relationship between us would affect them. For an awfully long time she's been the reason I haven't totally screwed up my life. But another part of me is dreading that she'll go through with what really is a promise. "It's going to be rather hard for us to avoid one another, you're my daughter's god mother," I remind her.

I can think of at least a hundred other reasons for us to spend time together; and I admit not all of them are beyond reproach.

"You could always change that with a stroke of a pen. I know we can't totally avoid each other, Chris. But there's no need for us to take any more trips together, the kids can come over now and then but the days of using them as an excuse are over. And I'm going to find someone else shoulder to lean on when life gets rough, or for a change I might just stand on my own two feet.

I want to pretend she's joking, but one look at the set expression on her face and I know I can kid myself all I want but she's not joking. She's dead serious and I feel my heart plummet straight down into my stomach. "You've been a friend to me longer than...."

"It's easy, we just keep on," I have to encourage her; I can't imagine my life without her in it on a regular basis. Who am I going to talk to?

"You need to be best friends with your wife, Chris. That's what most couples do; they don't look elsewhere for support." There she goes looking away again. "Or comfort."

I ignore what she said about Morgan, I don't want to think about her right now. Kind of hard to be best friends with some one who isn't around. " But that's what a friendship is Pam, two people supporting each other , comforting each other when life kicks them in the teeth. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yes there is when that support and comfort had us rolling around on the floor of the penthouse, or making out on the couch in my house, or you thinking that you can walk into my house any time to do what you did."

I squirm at the last part. I know I was wrong to force myself on her like that and I know there aren't enough apologies in this world to right that wrong. But she's talking about cutting herself right out my life. "So this is it?" I ask and I'm afraid to hear her response.

Believe me this won't be easy for me either; you've been a big part of my life for a lot of years. But I have enough on my plate already. I'm about to be something I never thought I would be, a divorced single Mom of two small children. I have to figure out how to do that before I can even think about having a man in my life."

"But I'm not just any man." Any other time I'd try to be charming or end that sentence with a wink. But not this time. If anything I just let the thought dangle there, waiting to see if she'll somehow grasp it and hold on.

She does smile just a bit as she says, "No you aren't just any man Chris. You're damn hard to say no too." She chuckles a bit, "I always say that I've messed my life up by listening to my heart instead of my head, but the funny thing is that the one time I probably really should have listened to my heart I didn't."

I shake my head sadly. "No, I'd say you made the right decision, Pam. You saved yourself even more pain then I've already caused you."

"Maybe or maybe we would have been a really cool couple and had the time of our lives. But that boat has sailed without us. And we have to deal with the hands we've been dealt. But right now we need to eat." She says and points, I look in that direction and see the waiter headed our way.

Eating is the last thing I feel like doing right now, but that's exactly what I do. What we do. When the meal is finished, Pam leans over, brushes her lips against mine and whispers, "We'll always have Paris." Then she stands up, and walks away.

There was a time when I would have tried to be funny and correct her by yelling out that its really Amalfi, not Paris. But this time I say nothing. I just watch her walk down the street until she disappears from view and I can't help thinking of the irony. Yet another woman has just walked out of my life, and all because of my stupidity.

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

(CHRIS)

I've watched Pam walk away. I've picked through the rest of my spaghetti. I've lagged here at the café so long I think the waiter is giving me the evil eye. Well he can just bite me. Considering the price of this plate of spaghetti and the three bottles of mineral water I think he can let me sit here as long as I damn well feel like it. Hell I'll even leave a tip.

Some time in the past month my life has gone from bad to worse and if I had to pinpoint a time when it all went to hell in a hand basket, I'd have to point at one event. The day my son came back into my life. I cringe as I think about him and everything he's done. But then the next instant I'm telling myself I'm being delusional. He's not the cause of all my problems as much as I'd like to lay the blame squarely at his feet.

Most of my problems are my own fault and the sooner I accept that the better it will be.

Reaching into my pocket I pull out a wad of bills and toss a couple of them onto the table. That should satisfy waiter boy. Now I need to decide what to do. Do I go back to the hotel, or should I just wander around this town? Pushing my chair back I'm just about to stand up when suddenly there's a commotion in front of me and someone plops down in the chair across the table. If this is a fan I'm going to freak out.

"Gelato."

My eyes widen when I realize Pam is the person sitting across from me.

"Put your eyes back in your head and close your mouth, Chris, it's really not a good look for you," she says.

I'm still in shock at her reappearance so I do exactly what she says.

"You came back because you wanted some Gelato?" I ask. There has to be more than that, there's a least half a dozen places she could have stopped to enjoy her dessert.

"Something wrong with that?" she asks with one eyebrow raised.

"Nope, I'm just wondering why you came back here in particular?"

"Well duh. You're here. Geez, you rock stars really are a little dense. Must be all those drugs."

"Hey, I don't do drugs," I blaze. Then under my breath I add, "Any more."

"Well good, but I bet you'll do dessert. Cause that's what you're going to buy me." She raises her hand and smiles over her shoulder at Waiter Boy and he shoots over here so fast you'd think he'd come out of a cannon.

"All right then." I listen as she orders and wonder if the bowl of gelato will come with two spoons. But if it doesn't I'm okay with sharing a spoon with her, we've shared more than that and it hasn't killed us yet.

When she's done ordering she turns back and just stares at me.

"What? Do I have something in my teeth? Did I spill something on my shirt?" God why am I so damn insecure around her? I'm not used to feeling this way.

"Nope. Just wondering what it is about you that keeps me coming back. I got halfway back to the Villa and I had to come back, I couldn't let things end like that between us." I perk right up at that bit of information, and Pam notices right away. "Now don't get too excited, I meant it when I said we can't get physical again." Okay now I'm pouting. Me not be physical with a woman? Especially this woman, already I'm wanting to run a hand through that hair of hers and kiss her cute little nose. "Damn you're cute when you pout." She laughs.

Not sure if she's laughing at me but it really doesn't matter, she's back beside me, that's what really counts.

And she's still with me hours later at the villa I'm staying in. The gelato has given way to a bottle of wine and two glasses and a tray of appetizers leisurely ordered from room service. We've laughed and talked and laughed some more. I really can't remember the last time I've felt this relaxed. Or content.

Pam sighs, I ask, "Is that a happy sigh or an I really should be leaving sigh?"

"It's not an I really should be leaving sigh, I sent the person I'm working with a text message and said that I would be out the rest of the day."

"Then what was the sigh for?" I ask her again as I take another sip of wine.

"I was sighing because there is something I need to tell you but if I do it's probably going to ruin the mood.

"Then don't tell me." I don't want to hear anything that would ruin our time together. But it seems that Pam is determined to tell me any way. Or maybe not as now she's pulling out her phone. She pushes a few buttons then hands me the phone.

"What the hell?"

She heaves a sigh. "Par for the course, I'd say. No reason for us to be surprised."

"I'm going to wring his +*#++%$ scrawny neck," I blaze and entertain myself thinking of different ways to kill a certain Joe Ross. Pam's right, the minute my back is turned, he just moves in. I should have expected this. But he's not the only one to blame, obviously my wife doesn't seem to mind his company. He looks might chummy in that photo with Connor and that just makes me angrier.

"That's the last thing you need to do, Chris. Bella doesn't need her Daddy in jail. Lily and Connor don't need to read the whole sordid history of you, Morgan and Joe in the tabloids. And you'd have to get in line behind me." Pam looks away out toward the terrace as she says, "Every time I think he's done hurting me he finds a new way to twist the knife. I swear, your wife has been part of my relationship with Joe since day one. I knew that she would be, after all they have two children together. I've lost count of the times he went running to her side because she was having some crisis or another. Or the times he went running to her instead of me. I've seen your latest video, and he never looked at me the way you look at Morgan in that video. Not once."

I close my eyes and try to push away all memories of that video shoot out of my head. I don't even want to think about that right now. I'd much rather concentrate on the woman in the room with me. "I've said time and time again that Joe Ross is a fool. My opinion hasn't changed." Tossing her phone onto the table, I crook a finger in her direction, risking her ire. But something tells me she won't. Not this evening.

And I'm right. It's almost as if she heaves a sigh of relief and she comes toward me, closing the distance between us in seconds. She moves into my arms and then before she relaxes against me, she scolds me. "I don't want to put up with any monkey business, Mr. Gaines."

"Good thing I don't know any monkeys then huh?" I crack.

"Chris..." She pulls back a little.

"I'm sorry. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. I promise." And I do mean it; I don't want her to leave. I need her to stay here; I need to hold her tonight. If she's here I won't have the urge to go out and find some trouble.

Pam relaxes in my arms and puts hers around me and I think I can feel all the tension drain away. She's always had that effect on me and I'm going to do whatever's necessary to keep her in my life.

Whatever it takes.

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

(JOE)

Do I or don't I?

That's the question I've been asking myself incessantly over the past hour, all the while avoiding the creaky spots on the hall floor as I pad from one end to the other and back again. Morgan excused herself from our own personal dance party just prior to that, saying she was tired and needed to try to get some sleep. I don't envy the task she's set out for herself tomorrow, but it's something that needs to be done if she wants to move on with her life.

But if she's sleeping, she's awfully restless. I promised I'd give her as much space as she needs, it's not an easy decision she's made. But I know it's the right one. For both of us. I correct myself: for all three of us. Something tells me Chris isn't going to know what hit him.

Not that he doesn't deserve it. He took off for parts unknown, skipped out on the therapy that Morgan had set up to try and save their marriage. I think that says it all. As I listen to the squeaking floor next door, I can't help but think that I've been through this all before. Listening to Morgan pace the floor over her ass of a husband.

Of course I'm pacing because earlier today Morgan told me that the kids had sent Pam some pictures with me in them. I can only imagine what she's thinking. She's accused me on more than one occasion of still being in love with Morgan. When I left rehab instead of going home to face our troubles I came up here and spent time with Morgan and the kids. I wonder if she's hurting over the fact that once again I'm here instead of Tulsa. Of course she isn't there either, she's in Italy with Beck Wilson. He wanted her to take pictures for a book he wants to do. Pam had to be thrilled that Beck thinks her photography is that good.

But if she thinks he's a potential romance, she's got another think coming. Beck is in love with only one thing and that's his career. If Pam thinks I was away from home too much, she has no idea what Beck's schedule is like. He's got enough frequent flyer miles to keep him traveling for the rest of his life.

When the floor squeaks again, I can't take it any longer. I put aside thoughts of Pam and decide that enough is enough. Leaving the guest room, I pad down the hall and stand outside Morgan's room for a minute. If I knock she'll come up with a hundred excuses for me not to come inside. If I barge in I risk getting a pillow thrown at me or worse. Taking a deep breath I twist the handle and open the door stepping boldly into the room.

"You need to get some rest Morgan."

She whirls away from the window. "I know that, I'm trying."

"Do you sleep standing up all of a sudden?"

"Ha ha ha," she says sarcastically. "Yeah, it's something new since I've had kids. Gives me better reaction time."

"Good one, I'll have to remember that." Stepping over to the bed I rearrange the mess of blankets into some semblance of order. "Get over here," I order.

She narrows her eyes. "Umm, what are you doing?"

"Get over here," I repeat. "Its time for bed."

"Not with you it's not."

I give her what I hope is my most charming smile. "What's the matter, I don't bite." Raising my eyebrows a couple times, I add, 'Unless you want me to."

"Give it a rest Joe, I'm really not interested in a romp in bed with you the night before I go chasing after my errant husband."

I lie through my teeth and say, "That's not the reason I came in here, Morgan. You have a long flight tomorrow and you really need the rest. Now get over here and lie down."

She tilts her head and looks at me, then with a sigh she says, "You always were really bossy."

"Yah and you loved every minute of it," I say as she climbs into bed.

She bursts out laughing. "As if. I just dished it right back at you."

"Nothing wrong with tempestuous and that's definitely one description of our relationship." I can feel Morgan starting to relax and I keep talking. "I can think of a few other words to describe us." Twisting a lock of her hair around my finger, I add, "Loving, funny."

Her eyes widen. "Have you forgot all the time we fought? Like cats and dogs, I might add."

"Bah, just a normal part of being married. I prefer to remember the happier moments, like late at night when we'd curl up in bed like this and…"

She clamps a hand over my mouth.

"Don't even go there Joe."

I raise my hand, peel her fingers off my face and kiss her palm, before folding her fingers over it.

"Before I was so rudely interrupted, I was going to say we'd curl up in bed and talk. Sometimes it was about the day's events other times it was about our hopes and dreams for Lily. It didn't really matter what the topic was, only that we were both there."

"And now we have a reprise of those moments," she whispers. "Not many formerly married couples get a chance for a do-over."

"Not many couples have remained as close as we have."

"And that in itself is a miracle. I cheated on you, Joe. I betrayed your trust and yet here we are years later."

"I rather like where I am right now, thank you very much." I run a finger down her arm then shift onto my side and slide an arm around her. "In therapy I was asked time and time again to explain my connection to you."

Morgan's eyes are closed, but she's resting her hand against mine and she rubs her thumb against my wrist. "I'm cute and fun to be around?"

"Well of course that's part of it." I smile. Then I get serious. "I think it goes all the way back to when you were with Chris. I always felt like I had to protect you. From the fans, the press and from time to time from Chris. We spent a lot of time together while he was off pretending he wasn't married. The more we got to know each other the more I began to care about you. I gave Chris an earful when the two of you split up, in fact I gave him an earful quite often over the way he treated you. He finally fired me. I thought I'd never see you again."

"How could you think I wouldn't keep you in my life, you're Lily's and Connor's father. You have every right to be there for them."

"But that's one thing, Morgan. I could have easily been there for the kids and not had very much to do with you at all, but that's not the way you wanted it."

She's silent for a long while, then finally when I think she's going to ignore me, she flickers those blue eyes open and looks right at me. "What can I say? I guess I've always been a little sweet on you."

"Just a little?" I ask in a husky voice.

She gives me a nod. "And right now, in your arms, I feel safer and more positive than I've been in an awfully long time. You've always had faith in me, Joe, and you've always been there when I've needed you. You are truly my strength."

Bending my head, I kiss her forehead tenderly; then I brush her hair away from her face. "And now I think its time to be your lullaby. Close your eyes, sweetheart. Let me keep you safe and sound until morning." Her words touch me more than I'm willing to let on. Guess there still are a few things I need to work on with my therapist but for the first time in a long time I think it's possible.

I can find the man I've always had it in me to be.

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

(JOE)

The phone rings just as I'm drifting off to sleep and it startles the hell out of me. As soon as I get over the shock of the sudden, unexpected noise, the worries start. Is it Annie or Hank? Has something happened to someone? Who would be phoning me at this hour especially since I'm in Minnesota, not at home?

The mystery is solved as soon as I answer, and Morgan's voice sounds in my ear. "Did I wake you up?" she asks.

"Nope," I reply, tucking the phone between my chin and shoulder. "I had to get up to answer the phone anyway."

Instead of laughing or making a rude comment about my sorry humor, she is silent. With Morgan that's never good. She's a chatterbox when she's nervous, or excited. When she's quiet, it usually means something has happened. "What is it, sweetheart? Did you get to Italy okay?" I ask in reply.

"Yes fine."

"And you saw Chris?"

"Yes."

"And?" Why do I get the feeling this conversation is going to be like pulling teeth - very difficult.

"And he wasn't alone."

"Oh it figures," I burst out. "A leopard never truly changes its spots, does it?" I know I'm forgetting about my own part in the infidelity in their marriage, but that's a different situation.

"And just in case you're interested. You were wrong."

"Well it wouldn't be the first time that's happened. What was I wrong about this time?" I ask.

"Pam," is her one word reply.

"What about Pam?" I ask her.

"She was the one with Chris."

"Pam was with Chris. In Italy? Now, just now?" I say dumbly.

"Yes, Joe." Morgan sounds the same way she does when one of the kids is slow to catch on to something.

"And they were together?" I have to check just to make sure. Maybe it's just a coincidence they are both in Amalfi right now. Okay it'd be a hell of a coincidence, but sometimes life is crazy.

"Last night they were together. But it wouldn't surprise me if they've been together the whole time. Doesn't really matter I suppose if it was one night or a whole string of nights. "

I can't imagine Beck going along with that plan of action. He's always been honest and straight forward when it comes to his work.

I doubt he'd have Pam come along to help with the photography for a book and then sit back while she hooks up with Gaines, but then stranger things have happened. Heaven only knows what his recent experiences in Iraq have done to him.

But right now I don't really care if he knew, or didn't know. Morgan is my main concern.

"You're not going to like my answer, sweetheart, but I'm guessing you called me for a reason. So I'm going to say it anyway. Go after him. You need to do it if you want any chance of saving your marriage. We talked about this remember? I reminded you of one of the reasons our marriage broke up. I didn't go after you when I should have and now you're doing the same thing to Chris. Look how many times he's come after you, to try to convince you he loves you and wants your marriage to succeed."

Got to give the guy credit, he's got a good track record when it comes to chasing after Morgan. Now she needs to reciprocate.

"Why should I go after some one who has obviously decided that he'd rather have another woman in his bed? You can't tell me that you'd go after Pam if the situation was reversed." She says and I swear I can see h er standing there with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

She does have a point, I'm not sure I would go after Pam. I never went after her before I always waited for her to come to me, and look how well that turned out.

"Morgan, you can't hold onto your pride like that. It only leaves you alone and lonely. Maybe if I had gone after Pam instead of letting my insecurities and old hurts get the better of me, I wouldn't be a weekend father again. Besides we aren't exactly innocent. You have to decide if you can overlook whatever happened in Italy or if you can once and for all walk away from Chris and never let him back into your life again."

She doesn't respond and after a few minutes I realize I can hear her sniffling on her end of the line. Damn, she's crying. Finally she manages to get under control enough to say, "And what if he doesn't want me?"

How the hell do I answer that? I'd love to simply say he'd be a fool. But this whole mess isn't exactly black and white, there are so many different issues and sides to the story its a little bewildering.

"You have to take that chance, Morgan. You owe it to yourself, you owe it to Chris, and you owe it to the children. You can't spend your life wondering 'what if', you need a definite answer one way or the other."

I hear a few more sniffles before she finally replies, E2I hate it when you're right. But now I have a question for you."

"Ask my anything." I tell her.

"Will you be around to pick up the pieces if he says no?"

"Always, sweetheart. "I give a deep chuckle and think about the other afternoon. "What do you think I gave that ring to you for?"

I gave Morgan a promise ring and told her I will always be here for her, no matter how her relationship with Chris turns out. I'm tired of pretending she doesn't mean the world to me and if we can't give our own marriage a second chance, then I have no problem being her best friend. We have two children together and the better we get along, and the more united we are, the better it is for Lily and Connor. "But the main thing to remember is that even though I admit your my life's one great romance, I know that yours is Chris. And that you are his. See, why you need to give one last try?"

"How did you get so smart?" She asks.

"Lots of hard knocks and wrong turns. Now hang up the phone and go talk to Chris. If you need another pep talk I'm only a phone call away."

"Thanks, Joe," she says and I no longer hear any sniffles in her voice.

"Anytime sweetheart."

The road ahead won't be easy, but it's a road she needs to travel. And if she needs me I'll be here.

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