Together—You and Me - The Epilogue

Neither spoke, the only sounds were the crackling of the burning wood.

"I know." Amy tightened her grip on his fingers. "Let's go to bed."

Dean followed his wife into their bedroom where Amy sat on the edge of the bed. He looked down at her while she pulled the top of her pajamas off. "Remove your shirt, too," she asked.

Dean slid into bed, and soon Amy tugged him onto his side. She scooted over as close as she could, and pressed her small breasts onto his chest. She closed his eyes with her fingers. "I want you to remember how I feel on your body. I want you to burn this sensation into your mind 'cause after next week, you'll never feel this again."

Amy felt his arms tighten around her body pulling her closer and tighter. "I'll never forget." Even though his eyes were closed, he was certain he could hear Amy's tears as they fell onto the pillow.

Dean opened his eyes. "You know, when we were dating, and I had my troubles, of all the stuff the doctors gave me, there was one thing that always worked; always made me feel good. Always made me feel safe."

Amy wiped tears with the back of her hand. "What was that?"

"When you'd sing for me."

"Ooh..."

Dean placed his hand on her cheek, and with his thumb, caressed her skin. "I'll never be on American Idol, but here goes."

Dean began to sing the same lullaby Amy had sung to him so many times when it seemed his world wanted to crash around him. Tears boiled from her eyes, leaving wide silver streaks as they meandered down her face.

For the next hour he held his wife. He cuddled Amy while he sang her the lullaby he knew by heart. Amy drifted off and found sleep. He slipped his legs out over the bed, and kissed her on the forehead. "We'll get though this—you and me."

The fire needed more wood, and the rack inside stood empty. Dean grabbed his coat on the way out to the woodpile. He stood on the doorstep, and looked out at the moonless sky. The cold night air gave every blade of grass a frosty coating of dew. As he walked toward the woodpile, each footfall sounded as though he was walking on breaking glass as the ice shattered.

At the woodpile, he stopped and looked at the sky. In all the years he'd been living in Colorado, he never stopped and watched the sky like he did that night. The arm full of wood he held soon tumbled into the icy mud. He glared at the night sky. "Why God? Why her?"

Every word hung in the cold December air like small shiny clouds. Dean sat on the old tree stump. "Everyone I've ever loved, you took away. Half the Afghan rebels couldn't kill me, so you're killing me slowly instead."

Dean jumped up and shook his fist. "If you want me, then take me! Give me the cancer, but not her. That's all I ask. Not her..."

He lowered himself onto the stump. He ran his hands over his face and palmed his eyes. His chest heaved and he blew out long slow breaths that froze in the air. Soon tears fell though the cracks between his fingers, and while he sat on that old tree stump on a frigid Colorado morning, Dean wept for his wife.

*******

Dean looked forward to the night. It was his time to relax. Amy and the kids would be asleep. The weather had turned colder, and the fireplace had become his best friend. Its warmth and soft yellow light filled the room. He was about to kick back, and watch the flames dance, as he had for several weeks when his eyes caught movement. A small hand cupped the corner of the wall. As he stood, he heard the sound of bare feet as they darted down the hallway. Willow. It had to be Willow. He entered her room and sat on the edge of her bed.

"Someone is supposed to be sleeping."

"I can't," Willow said, as she lowered the blanket from her face.

"I see. Worried about mom again?"

Willow shook her head. "No. You said mom would be okay."

"That I did. So, what's wrong?"

She snapped the blanket over her head. "There's a new girl in school, and she's making fun of my name. Why did you and mom name me after a tree?"

Dean hooked his finger on the binding of the blanket, and gently tugged it passed her eyes. "It's a long story."

"I wanna know."

Dean pulled in a deep breath, and then pushed a few stray hairs from his daughter's face. "You're as beautiful as your mother."

"You're avoiding the question."

"And just as smart, too."

"Dad!"

"Just like your mother... Let me see. Once upon a time..."

"Dad! I'm almost thirteen. No more 'once upons.'"

Dean grinned at his daughter's frustration. "You won't be thirteen for months. Okay. When I was a young man, I wanted to be in the Marines. So, I became a soldier. The Marines sent me to soldier camp, and that's where I met this man about my age. We had so much in common and soon we were the best of buddies. Now, talk about having a name kids could poke fun at; he had a dozy."

"What was it?" Willow asked, as her fingers smoothed the nylon blanket binding.

Dean started to laugh, and then caught himself. "Eugene Oscar Forsberg III. The guys in my unit called him 'Ed.' I always called him Eugene 'cause it made him mad."

"You're making that up."

"Nope. That was his name. We went through basic training, and then we went to more Marine schools before we went overseas to Iraq. We did what soldiers did."

Willow's eyes dilated in the dim light of her bedroom. "Did you kill anyone?"

Dean fussed with the blankets. "Sometimes we had to. Especially if the bad men were trying to put bullets into us."

"Ooh..."

"Eugene and I were closer than brothers. We watched each other's back. We took care of each other. Then the generals decided it would be best to send Eugene and I to Afghanistan. So a few weeks later, there we were.

"One day, we were ordered to take a few trucks to another village. But those bad men put bombs in the road. On our trip to the village..." Dean's voice began to falter. He flicked a tear from the corner of his eye.

"Dad?"

"Ah, something in my eye. Something from the fireplace, I guess. Where was I?"

"You were going to a village."

"Oh, yeah. The bad men put bombs in the road, and when we drove over them, they exploded. I wasn't hurt, and I began to pull my friends out of the burning trucks. But I couldn't get my friend Eugene out. I tried and tried and tried. The bad men were shooting at me, and while they managed to put a few holes in me, they couldn't stop me; the flames did. I wasn't able to save my friend, and he burned to death while I heard him begging me to save him."

Dean gripped his daughter's hand, and the room became as quiet as the inside of a church bell.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"So am I; everyday." Dean sucked in a deep breath. "My friend Eugene died that day along a useless stretch of sandy road. And in a way, a part of me died with him. I decided I had enough of being a soldier, and when my time was up, I came home. But I wasn't the same person I was when I left. I became angry and bitter. I disconnected with people. I uh, I lost someone I cared for very much when I got home because of what I had become."

"Your first wife, right?"

"Who told you that?"

"Mom."

"Sometimes, Willow, love alone isn't strong enough to hold two people together."

"Then you met mom?"

"Yup, sure did. She helped me through some rough times."

"Mom told me you were in the hospital and were sick."

"That's right. Mom saved me. Together we went to see a man about my sickness. It was her idea that I visit Eugene's mom and dad. She said I was looking for something. So one day we loaded up the car, and drove from our mountain to the green swamps of Georgia."

"That's where Eugene's mom and dad lived?"

"Sure was. They had a small house that sat on top of a ridge. The white paint had faded to dull gray. An old beagle stood guard at the front door. Eugene's dad was as skinny as a rail, and his mother looked like a pear. Oh, she was a big woman with a tiny head and small, dark brown eyes."

A smile filled Dean's face. "What're you smiling about, Dad?"

"That woman could cook. Pan fried catfish. Rhubarb-apple pie. If I'd stayed there, I'd be the size of the barn."

"What about my name?"

"I'm coming to that. Down from their house ran a creek. Sparkling-clear water flowed, and if you were to roll up your pants to your knees you could wade across. Fish and crawdads were everywhere. But on both sides of this lazy creek were giant willow trees lined up like soldiers on parade as far as the eye could see. Their slender silver-green leaves shimmered in the sunlight, and they would bend down and kiss the water as it flowed silently beneath them. The slightest breeze would make them sway, and at dusk, as the sun dipped below the horizon, dragonflies would come and drink from the creek.

"The day you were born, I thought about my friend. I saw your mother's hair billow out like a sailboat catching the wind in my mind's eye. I remembered those willow trees swaying, and that lazy creek as it flowed. I felt at peace. I looked at your mother, and told her I wanted to name my firstborn Willow. And that's how you got your name."

"So I was named after a tree?"

"No. You were named for all the things in my life that meant so much to me." Dean fussed with the blanket and tucked it under Willow's chin.

"Dad, did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yeah, I did."

"What was it?"

Dean fiddled with the blanket a bit more. He looked at his daughter though teary eyes. "Forgiveness... And peace."

Dean stood and walked to the door. "You go to sleep now."

Dean put his hand on the edge of the door. "Dad?"

"Yes, Willow?"

"I like my name."

"So do I, Willow, so do I."

He pulled the door close.

*******

Every night since Halloween, Amy took a large red crayon, and with a big "X" canceled out each day as it came to an end. It's December the tenth. Tonight was the last time she'd mark the calendar because tomorrow morning before the chickens were up, she'd be in the hospital. Her head fell onto the pillow but sleep eluded Amy that night.

The grandfather clock's chimes resonated their last notes. She counted them out one at a time. Twelve; it was midnight. She heard the bedroom door swing open, and Dean crawled into bed.

"It's odd not having the kids here," Amy said.

"They'll be fine at your sister's. Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"I can't."

Dean snaked his arm around her shoulders, and then pulled her tight. "All the worry in the world won't change a thing now, will it?"

Amy moved her head slightly, and then placed her palm on his bare chest. She rolled on her side, and placed her other hand on his shoulder. She nuzzled her face against his chest.

"Will you sing to me for a little while?"

Dean moved his fingers through her short black hair, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Then in his rich tenor voice, Dean sung his wife to sleep.

*****

The alarm clock rattled itself awake at a little past five. Dean woke her from a twilight dream.

"It's time," Dean said.

Amy was soon admitted and led to small room. It only contained a bed, a chair and a small tan metal locker. Amy sat on the edge of the bed when a nurse popped her head in.

"Everything comes off. You can place your clothing in the locker if you wish."

"I brought a bag," Dean interrupted.

"That will be fine." The nurse pointed to a neatly folded sheet at the foot of the bed. You can cover her with that."

Dean tugged the door 'til it was almost closed, leaving a small gap so the sounds of the hospital could creep in. Amy undressed then slipped onto the bed. He covered her with the sheet.

"I'm cold."

"Ah," Dean said as he looked around the small room. "I'll see about getting a blanket or something."

Dean left the room. Amy stared at the ceiling. Her mind raced. Amy felt fear begin to steal into her heart. Yet it was apparent that every nerve ending could feel the silence that surrounds her. The door opened, and Dean walked in, followed by a rather short, plump nurse about the age where women form a love affair with stretch polyester.

"Honey, I'm Naomi. I saw this man coming, and I knew what he wanted." Naomi spread a teal green blanket across the bed, and tucked it around Amy's body. "They spent 26 million on this new surgical wing. Think they could have dropped a few more bucks to make the heating system work? Hell no! That money went into the doctor's lounge."

Naomi slipped a blood pressure cuff around Amy's right arm. She noticed how the corners of Dean's lips seemed to crinkle as he tried not to laugh.

"One of these days," Naomi continued, "I'm going to get that maintenance supervisor down here in his birthday suit with nothing but one of these sheets over him, and I'm gonna wait 'till he complains about how cold it is. I'm gonna look him in the eye and say, 'it's just your imagination. The HVAC is working within designed parameters.'" Naomi blew out a short, hard puff of air. "Asshole!"

Dean had a hard time not laughing and Naomi caught his eyes. "The good Lord gave each of us one, and I guess he had such a good time making assholes, he made a pile of extras just 'cause he could. Everywhere you look, you'll find an extra asshole or two. You two know what I'm talkin' about, don't you?"

"I work with a few of the extras." Dean laughed.

"Uh-huh, just like I told ya. Bet you thought I was makin' that up, didn't you?"

Naomi held the business end of a stethoscope in her hand, warming up the cold metal. "These things are cold, too." She pulled the sheet and blanket back and listened to Amy's heart. "Nice and strong, but a bit fast, though. Wanna listen?"

Amy moved her head side-to-side. "I'll pass."

"How fast?"

"It's pounding faster than a crook running uphill after robbing a 7-11. But, that's to be expected. No problem at all." Naomi patted Amy's hand. "I'm going to put an IV stint in now."

Amy turned her head away, and looked at the cold steel locker. "Tell me when you're going to stick me. I don't like needles."

"Let me get some tape on this."

"Tell me when you're ready."

Naomi patted Amy's shoulder. "Honey, I'm already done."

"What?"

Naomi smiled. "I've been doing this for a long time." She hung two plastic bags onto a hook by the bed, and connected them to the stint. "I checked before I came in, and surgery is just a tad behind; they always are. They'll send someone down as soon as they're ready for ya." Naomi reached for the door and stopped. "You have the best surgeon in the state. You'll be fine." Naomi left the room, leaving the door ajar.

"Scoot your little butt over." Dean sat on the edge beside Amy. "I was thinking about what you said this summer." He moved his finger across her thighs a few inches above her knees. "Being a spy is dangerous. Hard telling what could happen if a spy is caught stealing secrets."

"Not too many spies out there with hair as short as mine, are there?"

"There's something to be said about 'short and sassy.'"

Dean was about to kiss her cheek when they heard the door open. There stood a young woman wearing a banana-split-yellow skirt, with a matching jacket over a white blouse. She looked all business with her white hose and heels. She carried an expensive-looking monogrammed leather portfolio under her arm.

"You can't possibly have more insurance forms for me to sign?"

"No, I'm not from the insurance company. I volunteer here at the hospital." She offered her hand to Dean. "My name is Shelly Peckham. I'm here to talk to Amy; in private."

Dean sighed in relief. "Grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria. They're running about half-an-hour behind," the woman in yellow said.

"I'll be back in fifteen." Dean left the two women alone.

Shelly pulled out the chair, and sat to one side of Amy's bed. She opened the portfolio then spread it out on the bed across Amy's legs. "Amy Bradley. Thirty-seven. Married to Dean Bradley for thirteen years. You have two daughters." She put the papers down and looked at Amy.

"You know all of that, don't you? Scared?" Shelly asked.

"No shit..."

"Scared of the surgery or scared of what will happen when you get home, and your husband sees you for the first time. Are you thinking how you'll take a shower without him seeing you naked?

Amy bit her lip. "How'd you know what I'm thinking?"

Shelly stood. "Do you think I'm attractive?"

Amy glanced at the woman who stood before her. "Yes, very much so."

"I see."

Shelly slipped her jacket off, and tossed it onto the bed. Then she began working on the buttons on her blouse. She slipped it off. Now, she stood in front of a stunned and silent Amy. Shelly turned, and Amy watched as she opened the clasp of her bra. She tossed it on the bed.

"What are you doing?" Amy demanded.

Shelly turned and Amy gasped.

"Double mastectomy, like you'll have. Do you still think I'm attractive?"

Amy remained quiet.

"Well, I am."

"When did they..."

"Cut 'em off? Sometimes it's easier to say it that way."

Shelly sat on the bed's edge. "I was a cheerleader all through high school. I had a tryout with the Denver Broncos cheerleaders after college. I fell in love with a guy I met there. Everything seemed to fall into place. We planned our lives together. When I turned twenty-four, he proposed to me on Christmas Eve. Of course I said yes, and we planned a June wedding.

"I guess it was late February when a routine mammogram found lumps in both of my breasts. They were so small I couldn't feel them. I went to my doctor and lo and behold at twenty-four I was diagnosed with stage two breast cancer."

Amy scooted up in her bed. "I suppose you're going to tell me that your boyfriend stood by you and together you held hands and sang songs."

"Nope. When I told him, he left so fast it melted the snow under his feet. I guess in a way, it was a good thing; for you see, he didn't love me for me. He loved how I looked.

"Amy, I thought my entire world exploded in my face. My boyfriend left me, some of my friends thought they could catch it from me. I felt lower than whale shit."

Shelly took both of Amy's hands into hers. "Like you, I laid in a hospital bed waiting for a surgeon to remove my breasts. Then this older woman came into my room, and she tossed her top on the bed. She had no breasts, but she was so full of life. I thought if this woman could do it, then by God, so could I. That's why I volunteer for the American Cancer Society and that's why I'm here."

Shelly began to dress. "I had a hard time with the dating scene. Boys being boys, they'd always try to grab my boobs. Of course, they were gone."

"But, you have cleavage," Amy interrupted.

"Depending on the surgery, there are implants, cosmetic surgery, or, in my case, I decided to go with prosthetics. Heck, I can even wear a bikini if I want."

The room grew quiet. "Did you ever get a boyfriend?"

Shelly slipped her jacket on and adjusted it slightly. "Dating had issues, I'll admit. I found out that instead of them finding out what I didn't have under my shirt, I'd show them like I did to you."

"What happened?"

Shelly laughed. "I went through quite a few men. I'd wait 'til we'd have a couple of dates, then I'd show them." Shelly's smile widened. "As the clothing hit the floor, I know some of those guys thought they hit the lotto."

"Until they saw you had no breasts."

Shelly pointed a finger with its perfect manicured nail. "Bingo!"

"Did they all run away?"

"Most did, never to be heard from again. A few just wanted sex; they'd screw a snake if someone would hold it. But one guy I dated was different."

"How so?"

"It was on our third date. We were at his place, and I tossed my shirt and bra onto the floor. He looked at me, and then he said I had the most beautiful eyes he ever saw. We talked together; we ended up in bed. That's been five years and two kids ago and we're going strong."