 
**Getting Her Money** ' **s Worth**

by Annette Mardis

Published by Annette Mardis at Smashwords.

Copyright 2013 Annette Mardis. All rights reserved.

Cover image _courtesy of Salvatore Vuono at FreeDigitalPhotos.net._

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

About the Author

For Charlene Allison, one of the most courageous, compassionate and selfless people I've ever had the privilege to know. Hope you're keeping things lively in heaven, dear friend. I'll miss you always.

For more on the National Marrow Donor Program, visit bethematch.org.

Chapter 1

**A** llie Charles had always gotten her money's worth out of life, and she wasn't about to get shortchanged now. Certainly not when the tick tock of her wall clock sounded more like a time bomb.

How much time did she have left? Mere months, her doctors seemed certain. But maybe she could stretch it; snatch a little here, a bit there.

She'd sure as hell try as if her life depended on it.

Which, of course, it did.

Ever since the doctors had confirmed her worst fears—that the bone marrow transplant hadn't worked, that nothing more could be done—Allie had been inundated by a tsunami of tears, trying desperately to dog paddle toward dazed acceptance, at the very least.

She could handle her own grief, marginally. But everyone else's? Not at all. She hated that stunned look on their faces, that hitch in their voices, that millstone on their minds.

She felt guilty—yes, guilty, for pity's sake—that she was the cause of so much hurt, and she couldn't do one stinking thing to change it.

And that just really pissed her off on top of everything else.

Well, she might not have any say about dying, but living? Puhleeeze! Her brain was still working and her mouth was still moving, weren't they?

Sure she was tired, and in pain so much of the time, but she damned sure wasn't going to hole up in her room torturing herself with why, what and if only.

Shelby Martin, one of her oldest and dearest friends—that was Allie's favorite way to describe her, that and "you skinny bitch," said lovingly, of course—had sent her a text earlier that day: "Two words: bucket list. Think about it."

That had made Allie smile even while her eyes were leaking, and that had been precisely the point of Shelby's message. But not the only point.

So Allie had texted back: "This isn't a damned movie, and I'm not Morgan freaking Freeman."

"I'm not Jack bleeping Nicholson, either, but we can still have some fun," Shelby had shot back.

"No skydiving, no Rocky Mountain climbing, no two-point-seven seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu."

"This isn't a damned country song, and you're not Tim flippin' McGraw."

"Does that mean I can't live like I'm dying?"

"It means you'd better live like you're dying because you won't get another chance."

"Pleasant thought."

"Life's a bitch."

"And then I die."

"Pleasant thought."

"You'll have plenty of time to cry after I'm gone."

"Glad to see the chemo hasn't made you all cuddly soft."

"Okay, wiseass, what do you want to do first?"

"Up to you. It's your funeral."

"How about we start with my foot booting your bucket butt?"

"Now you're talking."

***

IT STARTED WITH A sunburn; a bad one; one of too many Allie had suffered over the years. Her milk-and-vanilla-creme-cookies complexion surely hadn't helped. Neither had genetics.

She couldn't, and didn't need to, pinpoint exactly which overdose of damaging ultraviolet rays was to blame. The doctor had told her people probably get about eighty percent of their lifetime sun exposure during their first eighteen years of life, so she'd likely been doomed to get the dreaded "Big C" by the time she'd graduated from high school.

And later, when she'd spent so many hours playing softball during the most hellishly hot part of the day and, especially, when she'd lounged seemingly without a care on Shelby's boat, Allie had meant to use sunscreen.

She really, really had.

But she'd been too busy thoroughly enjoying a few hours or a rare full day off—getting her money's worth, as Shelby's husband, Roy, liked to call it.

Allie obviously had learned her lesson in the hardest possible way.

Removing the resulting melanoma, the least common of all skin cancers but the most deadly, had left a deep and ugly divot in the back of Allie's left leg. She'd also lost the clump of lymph nodes in her groin on the left side.

God, that had hurt like ten hinges of hell.

She'd gotten a reprieve from chemotherapy, thank you, Lord, because her doctor had said there was no strong medical evidence that sending such poison coursing through her veins would keep the melanoma from coming back.

No, the melanoma hadn't come back, but that had turned out to be only minutely small comfort.

Chapter 2

**A** llison Jo Charles and Shelby Marie Martin met on an unseasonably frigid fall night on an afterthought of a softball field tucked into a lonely corner of a Little League-dominated sports complex in Clearwater, Florida.

It was the mid-1980s and both women were single and blonde, but the similarities pretty much ended there.

Allie had almost five years, forty pounds and two cup sizes on her new teammate.

Shelby, still in her twenties, had a wry, often sarcastic sense of humor, was soft-spoken unless sorely provoked and was prone to self-doubt.

Allie's booming voice and full-bellied laugh easily commanded the attention of anyone within a two-mile radius, and she reveled in the limelight.

Allie's bat was bombastic, too, and easily the best part of her game. Shelby's value was her versatility—at one time or another she'd played every position on the field, although not equally well. She was best used as pitcher; she too often flinched at sharply hit ground balls when playing shortstop or one of the bases.

But she could hold her own in the outfield, which was where she found herself on that blustery evening, shagging fly balls beside Allie.

Shelby certainly was no gazelle, but she could cover far more ground than Allie, who moved with all the grace of a wounded wildebeest.

Both women were determined to impress their new coach, a former Marine grunt who relished giving the orders for a change.

His small stature didn't help his disposition, either. He purposely cranked screaming line drives, wicked worm burners and Babe Ruthian blasts out to where Allie and Shelby took turns trying to corral the cowhide.

"That sadistic, Semper Fi son of a bitch," Shelby griped, growing increasingly agitated watching Allie lumber after yet another ball that dropped mockingly beyond her reach.

"Hey, Gomer! Dump the lead outta your shorts and catch the ball for Christsakes!" coach Jarhead hollered.

"What the hell?!" Allie protested, bending down, grabbing her knees and struggling to catch her breath. "You haul your tight ass cheeks out here, Sgt. Carter, if you think it's so stinkin' easy!

"Sheesh," Allie groused as Shelby retrieved the ball and flipped it toward the infield. "Next he'll be telling us to drop and give him twenty!"

"I'll bite a hunk off my glove if he can convince me anybody in our league can jack a ball that far," Shelby replied.

"Well, get some mustard to slather on it, then, because you haven't seen Allie hit yet," another teammate stationed in the outfield hollered over to Shelby.

It wasn't long before she learned just how hard Allie could sock a slow-pitched softball. Shelby was pitching batting practice a couple of weeks later when Allie nearly took Shelby's left ear off with a scalding shot straight back through the box.

"Incoming!" coach Jarhead jeered gleefully.

Allie turned the next pitch into a shin-seeking missile that Shelby somehow dodged, nearly tripping herself in the process.

"Hey, Martin!" Jarhead sneered. "My grandmother coulda snagged that, and she's been dead for fifteen years!"

Shelby purposely threw the next few pitches inside, outside, too high, too low—anywhere but over the middle of the plate.

"Hey!" Allie said indignantly. "How about giving me something to hit!"

"Why, so you can maim me?"

"Now, would I do that?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Puhleeeze, I don't see any bruises."

"Not yet, you don't!"

"C'mon, Shelby," Jarhead barked. "Quit dickin' around."

"Fine," she huffed, "but I'm not letting her use me for target practice anymore!"

With that, Shelby turned and stomped toward second base, stopping a few steps shy of the bag. With a smirk and surprising accuracy, she lobbed strike after strike from a safer distance while Allie whaled away to her heart's content.

***

SHELBY HAD NO REASON to hurry home after Sunday morning softball practices; she lived alone and didn't date often. Her mother said she was "too picky." Shelby preferred to think she was just being selective.

She did tend to boot guys to the basement pretty quickly once she started mentally tallying all the reasons, real or imagined, a relationship wouldn't work out.

It's not like she was pushing herself to find a husband. Shelby was doing just fine, thank you very much, on her own, carving out a career as a low-key Lois Lane and making a livable wage doing something she'd aspired to since being selected for the school newspaper in junior high.

Her apartment was nothing to write Better Homes & Gardens about, but it was clean (usually) and comfortable (mostly). She drove a sporty new Honda Prelude in candy apple red with a moonroof and a cassette player that usually blasted Aretha Franklin's Freeway of Love or Tina Turner's Better Be Good to Me, with a little Juice Newton and Madonna thrown in for variety's sake.

The Prelude was her most extravagant purchase to date, and once she got over the near-paralyzing fear of wrecking her prized possession, Shelby loved tooling around town in a car way cooler than she was.

And it was a good thing she enjoyed being behind the wheel because she almost always ended up as the designated driver for misadventures with her far rowdier friends. While out one night cruising along to Who's Zoomin' Who? by "Urethra," as her pal Susan had dubbed the Queen of Soul, they stopped for a red light and thought they recognized the young woman in the car ahead of them.

Suddenly, Susan popped up through the open moonroof, hooting and waving, only to slink back down into the cushy black leather seat seconds later as crimson colored her cheeks.

"Wasn't who you thought it was, huh?" Shelby observed, snickering.

"Nope," came the chagrinned reply.

***

ALLIE RARELY WAS ALONG for such rides and silliness. She had a job that was not just full time but very nearly around the clock. She'd been hired as the live-in caretaker for a doctor's son whose muscular degenerative disease left him unable to walk or even move much.

Allie had only minimal nursing training, but she came highly recommended by mutual friends and possessed qualities sometimes harder to find and often far more valuable: devotion, empathy, integrity and compassion.

Those attributes were especially important to Andrew's parents because years earlier, he'd fractured a hip bone in a fall from his wheelchair at a special school and had been left to sit in agony for hours without medical attention.

Andrew was the second born of two surviving siblings; their younger sister and brother already had died of the same mysterious malady that afflicted Andrew. All three were born in Mexico, and whether that mattered was still open to debate. All the family knew was that the eldest daughter, the only one born in the U.S.A., was also the only one without the horribly debilitating and ultimately deadly disease.

Everything Andrew ate had to be liquefied and poured into a funnel attached to a tube that Allie snaked down his throat. He could taste his dinner only when he burped.

Andrew could talk, but not so most people could decipher what he said. Allie, though, claimed to understand every word and always was eager to interpret, or embellish, as the case might be.

Andrew's body was in his thirties, but his emotions and intellect were trapped in his early teens and sometimes younger. He loved toy guns, especially galactic blasters with flashing lights and laser sounds, even if he couldn't pull the trigger on his own.

Allie carried on as if he were shooting up the joint, admonishing and exclaiming, and Andrew's guttural laugh rose in volume to match his best friend's.

It was obvious Andrew was the son Allie would never have, and she loved spending time with him, even if it meant missing out on jaunts with friends and male admirers. Chances were slim an eligible man was going to stroll up to the front door, ring the bell and invite her on a date.

That didn't mean Allie was tied to the sprawling house Andrew's parents owned and where Allie had a bedroom and luxurious bath in the converted garage. Andrew loved to go, well, anywhere, and Allie would settle him in his power chair, load him into the family's specially outfitted van and take him to places both fun and ordinary.

It was a lot of extra work for Allie but well worth it to her to see the smile that never left his face. She sometimes brought Andrew to her softball games, and he gloried in the fuss her teammates always made over him.

Chapter 3

**W** hether she brought Andrew along or arrived alone, Allie held softball sacred, making it a point not even to miss the three-hour, sweat-soaked practices in the dead of Florida's sweltering summers.

Softball was a necessary physical and social outlet that she couldn't, and wouldn't, give up.

Shelby felt the same way, for the same reasons. But for her, softball was something of an obsession, too. As a kid, she'd convinced her parents to paint the walls of her bedroom to match her jersey: shamrock green. Thankfully, the Police Athletic League was sponsoring her team at the time and not the funeral home from a few seasons earlier that had insisted on black, naturally, as its primary color.

Shelby's dedication to softball sometimes superseded common sense. She played through colds, stomach upsets, bruised shins, aching knees, twisted ankles and, once, even a broken nose. The latter came courtesy of an unbelievably errant throw from a teammate playing right field who was aiming for home plate in a pre-game warm-up but instead found Shelby's face as she walked to her team's bench.

The blow knocked her off her feet and started a blood flow that choked Shelby when she tried to take her next breath. Her coach yanked her up off the ground and plopped her on the wooden bench, where she spent the next half hour lying with her head angled back like a Pez dispenser.

While Shelby waited for the bleeding to stop, her nose throbbed and swelled, and the flesh beneath her eyes began to get purple and puffy. Yet, almost inexplicably to anyone else, she still wanted to play.

Her coach nixed that idea when he reminded her that, as the team's catcher, she'd have to wear that mask she hated so much even on a good day. Still, she'd been willing to do it if only her nose hadn't started bleeding again every time she sat up.

Years later, as a reporter covering murder and other criminal trials for one of the local newspapers, she'd anxiously watch the clock on game days, especially if a jury was still deliberating. She'd prevail upon a friendly lawyer to leave word of the verdict via voicemail. Then she'd wait until the last possible minute before bolting from the courthouse to her car and, if night already had fallen, changing into her uniform as she drove and idled at red lights.

When she had time to go home before a game and maybe even have dinner like a normal person, she'd get so unaccountably nervous sometimes she'd have to crank up a favorite psych-up song, say, Flashdance (What a Feeling), on her stereo. Then she'd jump, jog, stretch, skip, strut, swirl, whirl and punch at the air for a while to get her adrenaline flowing.

And she abhorred rainouts, which left her feeling antsy, empty and even cheated.

***

SHELBY AND ALLIE'S TEAM occasionally traveled from Clearwater to a nearby burg to play in tournaments. Allie usually volunteered to take her mid-size Saturn whenever a car caravan was called for.

Because she so often drove what she referred to as "Andrew's van," Allie had a fairly low number of miles on her own vehicle. Though the van was equipped with all the latest conveniences, Allie relished wrapping her hands around her L-series sedan's steering wheel.

The car was one of the few things, besides her limited wardrobe and a smattering of other personal possessions, that she truly could call her own.

During the thirty-minute drive south to the neatly manicured ball diamonds at St. Petersburg's North Shore Park along an especially picturesque stretch of Tampa Bay, Allie repeatedly reminded Shelby and the other players riding with her that she had a certain wardrobe item covered in case of malfunction or accident.

When they arrived at the fields, Allie loudly—did she talk any other way?—announced that fact to the rest of her team: "Clean underwear! I've got extra clean underwear if anybody needs any!"

Her teammates were used to Allie's booming, and often odd, pronouncements, so other than a few raised eyebrows nobody bothered to question why she felt the need to take responsibility for anyone else's intimate apparel.

But the women on the competing teams cast plenty of curious looks her way. As always, Allie seemed not to notice.

Chapter 4

**B** ecause Allie and Shelby were so emotionally invested in playing ball, it was only natural they'd forge a friendship based on that mutual need and interest.

It started with after-practice lunches and eventually blossomed into a pre-Labor Day trip to Ocean City, Maryland, where Allie had spent memorable family vacations as a kid growing up in Pennsylvania, and also a side trip to see the monuments and museums of Washington, D.C.

Allie, as usual, had suggested they take her car, and Shelby readily offered to chip in for gas and help drive. During one turn behind the wheel on the way there, Shelby was motoring north on Interstate 75 through Virginia when she saw a toll plaza up ahead.

Usually the cautious sort, she was feeling uncharacteristically cocky—she was her team's starting pitcher, wasn't she?—as she fingered the coins in her hand.

"What are you doing?" Allie asked in surprise as she noticed her friend was slowing but not stopping.

"Just watch," Shelby said. As she rolled up to an unattended toll booth, she stuck her arm out the window and flipped the quarters toward the coin basket.

"She shoots, she sco...oh, crap!"

One coin went in, but the other two bounced off the basket, hit the pavement and skittered in opposite directions.

Shelby hit the brakes—thankfully, nobody was behind her—and opened the car door to look for the errant quarters. She spotted one too far under the vehicle to retrieve without doing a face-plant on the asphalt. The other one, well, God knows where it went.

"Got any more quarters?" Shelby asked Allie, who was so delirious with laughter she was afraid she'd wet her pants.

"Oh, puhleeeze," Allie managed to reply before the giggles overtook her again. "I gave you the last ones I had."

Shelby rummaged around in her purse, all the while wondering if she should just drive off. She'd already overshot the booth, no alarms had sounded and there was nary a cop car in sight.

Before she could further contemplate life as a toll-skipping scofflaw, she'd managed to gather up enough dimes and nickels from the bottom of her bag to keep her reputation as a law-abiding, homicide detective's daughter intact. She hopped out of the car, darted back to the basket and carefully dropped in the coins.

With a sheepish wave to the toll taker a few booths over, Shelby slinked back to the car, got in and was about to hit the gas when Allie mumbled, "My grandma could have sunk that shot—and she's been dead for fifteen years!"

Once they crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, the last stretch of the ride—along U.S. 13 and then U.S. 50 into Ocean City—dragged on, especially after Allie prematurely announced several times that they were nearly there and began listing all the junk food she anticipated wolfing down as soon as the boardwalk appeared through her windshield.

When they finally made it to the beachside resort town, Allie pulled over at the first concession she spotted and bought an industrial-size bucket of fries and a half vat of cola.

"Mmm, haven't had these in years. Nothing better than boardwalk fries," she said, munching away happily.

"Yeah, they're good, but they're just not sitting too well on top of all the candy bars and chips we ate earlier," Shelby said, licking the salt and grease off her fingers. "I'm hungry for some real food, maybe someplace with a loaded salad bar."

"Salad? Puhleeeze! This is no time for your skinny bitch diet. We're on vacation; we're in Ocean City, for pity sakes. You can eat salad anytime. What you need is a big, sloppy cheeseburger to go with these fries."

"Sure, why not," Shelby said in her most sarcastic tone. "And after we're done stuffing our faces with a side of beef, why don't we go on some rides and slosh it around really good inside so we both end up with gut aches as large as the Atlantic.

"Won't that be fun fighting over the bathroom at the motel?" she added. "If we make it that far."

"Oh, all right," Allie said, rolling her eyes. "But before we leave here I'm getting one of those boardwalk burgers with the works, and I'm going to enjoy every last bite."

A few minutes and a block or two or ten later, they found themselves grazing at a salad bar, packing their plates with as much as they could hold, and then some.

Shelby predictably lost a few toppings—a pickled beet here, a garbanzo bean there—on her way back to the table, and Allie didn't let it go unnoticed.

"Look out! Beet! Beet on the floor! Don't step on it!" she announced to every diner who strolled anywhere near the wayward garden vegetable. "Don't slip! Beet! Beet on the floor! Watch out!"

Chapter 5

**A** s if that didn't draw enough attention, Allie's continued outbursts at inopportune moments during dinner soon had Shelby's face turning a brighter shade of scarlet. Their conversation had turned to a teammate with a fondness for visiting one of the "clothing optional" resorts just north of Tampa.

"She swears there's nothing sexual about it, but then she talks about how her boyfriend gets beneath her chair and pops up between her legs while they're sunbathing around the pool," Shelby said. "And her little girl is sitting right there, watching the whole thing. That's just not right.

"And can you imagine playing volleyball and tennis in the nude?"

The thought of all that unrestrained bouncing and jiggling prompted Allie to exclaim, "In the nuuude?!" at a decibel level only slightly lower than a jet engine at takeoff.

As heads swiveled all around the restaurant, Shelby considered making a mad dash for the ladies' room. But with her luck, she'd probably slip on that "beet on the floor!" and end up bouncing her butt across the tile.

***

LATER, AFTER THEY'D WALKED off their dinner and exercised their credit cards at boardwalk shops, Shelby and Allie settled into their motel room and flipped on Jerry Lewis's annual Labor Day telethon. That reminded Allie of Andrew, as most things did, but it was past her charge's bedtime back in Clearwater.

"I'll have to call him in the morning and tell him all about the trip so far," she said.

The next few days passed in a haze of vacation bliss. They vegged on the beach, sipped frozen rum concoctions, logged lots of sneaker miles up and down the boardwalk, careened along a go-cart track (exceeding the safe-driver speed limit whenever possible) and played skee ball until their arms were tired, their coins were exhausted and their carry-all bags were brimming with cheesy prizes.

Too soon, the Labor Day weekend was over, signaling the end of Ocean City's summer season, and it was time to head northwest to the nation's capital. They'd both been there years before with their parents and looked forward to seeing the sights again, this time through a grown woman's eyes.

***

WHILE WAITING IN THE tour line outside the White House, they heard Marine One, the president's helicopter, fire up its rotor blades and saw it rise above the historic mansion.

Allie waved furiously as it was flying away. "Hey, Ronnie!" she shouted several times above the din. Then she looked at Shelby and the people ahead of and behind them in line.

"I bet President Reagan's looking out his window right now," Allie insisted, "and I'll bet he can see me waving!"

"Oh, yeah, I'll just bet he can," Shelby said, smiling.

Later, at the U.S. Capitol, the two friends meandered through the House of Representatives office building to see whether a former newspaper co-worker of Shelby's named Danny was working that day in their congressman's office. He was and insisted on introducing them to his boss.

"Wait just a second and I'll go get him," Danny said. "He's at his desk. I'll be right back."

"Oh, that's okay. Don't bother him," Shelby said, feeling more than a little self-conscious in her shorts, T-shirt and sneakers.

"It's no bother. He loves meeting people from back home," Danny said, then left the reception area for a few minutes. He returned with the second-term lawmaker in tow.

"So nice to meet you ladies," the silver-haired congressman said, oozing charm. "I'd love to take you to dinner tonight, but I have to go to a reception the vice president is holding at the White House."

Shelby did a mental eye roll; she knew a politician when she met one. Besides, proper protocol for a journalist was to avoid acting impressed upon meeting any elected official or celebrity. Seasoned reporters honed their blasé act to an art form.

Allie was under no such constrictions and all but swooned when the legislator wrapped her palm in his.

"I'll never wash this hand again," she gushed later.

***

THE NEXT DAY, THE friends set out for the National Aquarium, tucked without fanfare in the basement of the Department of Commerce building.

Shelby knew all about the National Zoo, famous for its giant pandas, and had been there before. But she never even knew there was an aquarium in D.C.—it was a fairly well-kept, although unintentional, secret in those days.

What had caught Shelby's eye was the notation in the guidebook about piranha feedings, once a day, three afternoons a week, in the aquarium's Amazon River Basin Gallery.

Gleefully envisioning a feeding frenzy, Shelby and Allie impatiently browsed the other exhibits, including an ocean habitat with a Smurf-blue lobster, until the clock finally crept toward two. They headed over to the piranha tank plenty early enough to make sure they got a close-up view of the expected carnage.

Chapter 6

**A** t the appointed hour, Shelby, Allie and a handful of other guests watched as someone behind the scenes opened the lid and began dropping small cubes of raw fish into the water.

And then...not much happened. A couple piranhas swam over and bumped the food with their blunt-shaped snouts, and that was it. Nary a razor-sharp tooth was flashed, no flesh was savaged or even sampled and no ferocious mealtime manners were displayed.

"That's it?" the friends asked in bewildered disappointment.

"Hey, toss in a hand and let's see some action!" Allie hollered to the anonymous fish feeder who remained hidden behind a partition as all stayed serene inside the piranha tank.

Not so outside the aquarium. When Allie had left her Saturn parked along Constitution Avenue and the National Mall at midday, it was just one in a long line of vehicles at curbside.

By the time they emerged from the bowels of the Commerce building, stopped in at the National Archives and returned to the car at rush hour, an unpleasant surprise awaited them.

The parallel parking spaces were now in the flow of heavy traffic, and the Saturn was a lone roadblock with a ticket—one of several Allie would collect during their stay in D.C.—tucked under a windshield wiper blade.

Years later, Shelby would try to remember whether she'd offered to give Allie money toward those tickets. Shelby suspected she hadn't, and she never quite shook a feeling of guilt about that uncharacteristic show of stinginess.

***

WHEN THEY RETURNED TO the motel that evening, Allie couldn't wait to call Andrew and tell him about the great piranha feeding fiasco. As Allie gave him a full accounting of the day's events, Shelby started counting how many times she heard her friend repeat certain parts of the story.

"And I said, 'Throw in a hand!' That's right, Andrew. That's what I said. 'Throw in a hand!' The food came down, the fish swam up to it and bumped it with its nose. And that was it. So I said, 'Hey, throw in a hand!' "

By the time Allie finished her call, Shelby was in a snarky mood. "Hey, Allie. I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard you say, 'Throw in a hand!' "

"Oh, puhleeeze. I wish I had a dollar for every time you said you wished you had a dollar for something or other."

"Well, if I did have a dollar, Allie, I'd be on a cruise right now instead of sitting here in this motel room with you hearing yet again about how you said, 'Throw in a hand!' "

Already irritated, Shelby's mood wasn't helped a bit later when she called her boyfriend of three months, Roy Dean, and Allie made no pretense about listening to Shelby's side of the conversation.

Because it was B.C.—before cell phones—Shelby didn't have much choice about using the bedside telephone in their room. She certainly wasn't going to go out by herself in search of a phone booth, no matter how much she wanted privacy to talk to Roy.

So, as she sat on one of the two double beds, she very pointedly pulled the covers over her head and lowered her voice. She didn't care whether Allie was insulted. She was having fun but missing Roy, and she also was feeling more than a little smothered.

"So how's Roooy?" Allie crooned, just as pointedly, when Shelby hung up the phone and finally emerged from beneath her makeshift sound barrier at least half an hour later.

"He's fine," Shelby replied, then gave her friend a look that made it clear she didn't intend to say another word about it.

If Allie's feelings were hurt, she didn't show it. But the next morning, Shelby's conscience started scolding her. Allie had been nothing but her usual good-natured self throughout the trip, patiently weathering Shelby's occasionally crotchety disposition.

Shelby didn't understand why she got so irritated with people, especially one of her best friends, who had more patience and just about the biggest heart of anyone she'd ever known.

Her behavior embarrassed her, but Shelby couldn't seem to control it. All she knew was that the little irritations from being in too-close quarters with another person steadily would inflate as though an air compressor were attached to each of her ears. The pressure would build to the point that it had to find an outlet—usually her mouth in the form of a crabby comment or two or five.

"Hey, Allie, I'm really sorry about last night," Shelby offered as they waited for their bacon-and-eggs breakfast to be served that next morning.

"For what? What did you do?" Allie replied.

"You know, for getting so bitchy with you after you got off the phone with Andrew. And for all the other times during this trip when I wasn't as nice as I should've been. I guess living alone, I'm just not used to being around someone 24 hours a day."

"Oh, puhleeeze. You forget I live in someone else's house with someone else's parents. Trust me, we get on each other's nerves in a heartbeat."

"Yeah, I can imagine. But still...I am sorry.

"Don't mention it."

"Too late. I just did."

"Wiseass."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

Chapter 7

**A** s the vacation ended, and Shelby realized how much she'd missed her boyfriend, her relationship with Roy began to deepen.

By Christmas, as she fingered the delicate pendant with diamond chips shaped like a flower that he'd given her as a gift, Shelby knew she was in love for the first time and that Roy quite possibly was the one.

His presence in her life enriched it in so many ways. Despite being surrounded by friends, Shelby had been so lonely, aching with a deep need to be special to a man who was equally special to her.

Shelby habitually had difficulty letting guys get close to her, but Roy had broken through all her barriers. He made her laugh, he fit in with her friends and they liked a lot of the same things. He cooked for her and became a fixture among the assorted husbands, kids and boyfriends who orbited her softball team.

She knew she'd found a keeper when the other players began asking, "Does Roy have a brother?"

"He does," Shelby told them, "but he's about five years younger, he's married, he lives up north and he's nothing like Roy, or so he says."

***

SOFTBALL WASN'T JUST A shared interest, it had brought Shelby and Roy together.

Shelby was with her coach and other teammates in a sports bar one night because Jarhead was hoping to convince the owner to sponsor their team. Roy happened to be there with Sherry, a power hitter who Jarhead hoped to lure away from another squad in the same league.

Shelby had never seen Roy before and didn't pay him much attention. He was just a guy who kept coming back to their table to pour another glass of beer from the ever-present pitchers sitting there. Shelby wasn't much of a drinker and, because one of her grandfathers had been an abusive alcoholic, didn't suffer drunken fools very well.

And Roy appeared to be just that, bonding over his brew with Jarhead in such suds-drenched silliness as playing catch with a stuffed cat that Roy had won from the claw machine in one corner of the bar.

Shelby had been battling a bad cold that was threatening to turn into her annual bout with bronchitis and had gone home early. Her final glimpse of Roy that night was of him pulling in a long pass and spiking the feline toy in a mock touchdown celebration.

She wasn't impressed.

Shelby didn't see Roy again for a couple more weeks, missing another gathering at the bar in the meantime because she was still fighting off the upper respiratory illness that was taking its own sweet time running its course.

When she finally felt well enough to join her team at the bar for the next round of Operation: Get a Sponsor, she saw that Roy and Sherry were there again, too. Not that Shelby cared, but she noticed that while Roy was buying Sherry's drinks, she was flirting heavily with another guy seated next to her on a barstool.

A little later, Sherry came over to mooch from one of the pitchers of beer Jarhead had bought and left on the pushed-together tables where his team was ensconced for the evening. Shelby didn't know her well and was surprised when Sherry started chattering about the hot guy she'd met and how she hoped the night would end with him taking her home.

Shelby didn't especially want to have this conversation, but before she knew it the words were leaving her mouth: "Uh, I thought you and Roy were together."

"Oh, no, we're just friends," Sherry replied breezily. "He's a really good guy, though. You should go out with him."

"Well, that wasn't why I was asking about him," Shelby replied.

"Yeah, but you still should go out with him. You guys would make a good couple."

Shelby doubted that and promptly let the matter drop.

As the night wore on, and she'd taken a few turns on the dance floor with some of her teammates, a guy from one of the men's softball teams that frequented the sports bar came up and asked her to dance.

Shelby was flattered—there were other women sitting with her, after all, and she usually wasn't the first one asked to dance, if she was approached at all.

Shelby wasn't particularly comfortable meeting men in bars, even in the more relaxed atmosphere of a sports bar, and she suspected her subconscious body language screamed "Stay away!" even as she wished that for once someone normal would notice her.

And now, wonder of wonders, here was a cute, athletic guy who wanted to dance. With her!

Chapter 8

**T** hey walked to the small dance floor and started moving to the music.

"See those guys over there?" he asked, motioning to a group sitting together at some nearby tables. "We just won our tournament."

"That's great. Congratulations," she said, raising her voice over the song blaring out a beat. "Those girls over there at those tables are my softball team. We're in here trying to get the bar owner to sponsor us."

The conversation wasn't scintillating, but Shelby was smiling and trying to act friendly and not nervous.

After the dance was over and he went back to his team, she figured that was it for the night. She really wasn't all that interested; he seemed nice, but she could tell from talking to him that their maturity levels were nowhere close to being compatible.

So when he came back over later and asked her to dance again, she was surprised but, not wanting to hurt his feelings and enjoying the mild flirtation, she followed him to the dance floor for a second time.

As they were telling each other a bit more about themselves, he happened to mention he was twenty-three years old and, seeing a less than pleased but knowing expression cross Shelby's face, asked her how old she was.

"How old do you think I am?" she replied.

"Oh, about the same age as I am," he said without guile.

Shelby laughed. She couldn't help it.

"I'm twenty-nine," she told him.

Obviously surprised, the poor guy sputtered, "You look good for your age!" and made Shelby laugh even harder.

When he walked her back to her seat, he inexplicably asked for her phone number. Shelby had no intention of going out with him, but she didn't want to turn him down flat, so she pulled out one of her business cards from work and handed it to him. When he said he wanted her home phone number, Shelby told him she didn't give that out to people she didn't know.

Realizing he was getting the brush-off, the guy shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Shelby was still shaking her head and chuckling over the whole "you look good for your age" episode when Roy happened back to the table. He hadn't seemed to be paying much attention to her, so she was surprised when he took the chair next to her and asked what she was smiling about.

Shelby was in a good mood, so she didn't mind telling him the story. She wasn't sure why he cared, but he listened intently. When she concluded with the part where she'd rebuffed the younger guy's request for her home phone number, Roy look at her and asked out of the blue, "So, when are you going to give me your number?"

Shelby hesitated for just a second, trying to figure out whether he was serious, before deciding what the hell, she was on a roll.

"You got a pen?" she asked with unusual self-assurance.

He hopped up and got one from the bartender, along with a sliver of paper, and she scribbled the series of digits and handed it to him.

Roy looked at it and said, "So, what phone booth did you just give me the number to?"

"That's my home number," Shelby told him.

"Sure it is," he said.

"No, it really is."

"So, why'd you give me your home number and not that other guy?"

"Well, you're in here with people I know and besides, you seem safe."

"Oh, great," Roy groaned. "Just what every guy wants to hear."

"Sorry, but it's true," Shelby said.

Chapter 9

**W** ith that still hanging in the air between them, Roy suggested they go to a nearby restaurant and get breakfast. She declined his offer to ride together, just in case he wasn't as safe as she suspected.

Over bacon, eggs and hash browns, Shelby learned he was a year older than her, had a pre-teen son and daughter, had been divorced about a year and had abruptly quit his job at a software company because he'd found out the owners were heavy duty into dealing cocaine, and he didn't want to be deemed guilty by association. (His instincts proved correct when police later raided the place and made a number of arrests.)

Shelby also realized that, despite appearances, Roy wasn't a big drinker, although he'd admittedly gone through a binge time after his wife had booted him out and taken up with her boss.

He wasn't mourning the marriage—it hadn't been a happy one. But he was sowing some oats that had gotten left in the sack when he'd found himself a father-to-be at seventeen who'd married his girlfriend because it was the right thing to do and he'd thought he was in love.

Shelby liked kids and admired his sense of duty in staying married for twelve years to a woman who treated him, at best, like a blister on her big toe.

But Shelby wasn't quite sure why she was sitting in a diner with less than stellar service at one in the morning talking to an unemployed single father who, with apparent post-bar adrenaline at work, was playfully (she hoped) threatening to climb atop their table and start bellowing if the waitress didn't hurry up and bring him butter for his dry toast.

And she wasn't sure she believed him when, after they'd finally gotten a whole saucer full of butter, finished eating and walked to their cars, he promised to call her soon.

***

SOON TURNED OUT TO be the next morning, and he hadn't called, he'd shown up at her softball practice, which she hadn't remembered mentioning but obviously had.

His presence caused the usual murmurs that accompanied one of the women having a new guy, but for Shelby it was a new experience and a pretty pleasant one.

She tried her best to balance showing awareness of his presence with paying attention to the hitting and fielding drills that Jarhead was putting the team through. Her coach wasn't a bad guy underneath his gruff exterior, but he could be a demanding lout and didn't put up with players not giving him their full focus.

For the most part, Shelby put aside the nervous flutter in her stomach, even when one of her more aggressive teammates looked Roy up and down with blatant appreciation and told her, "Hey, he's really got a good body."

Fully appreciating his trim physique and tight little tush for the first time, Shelby replied, "Yeah, he really does."

Toward the middle of practice, however, Roy suddenly left the dugout, trotted to his rusting red pickup and peeled out of the gravel parking lot.

From her perch on the pitching rubber, Shelby kept throwing strikes despite the way her tender heart had plummeted down into her cleats.

The only thing she could figure was he wasn't happy about sharing her attention. If that was the case, then too damned bad, she consoled herself. There wasn't anything she could do about it.

About half an hour later, however, he came flying back through the parking lot in a cloud of white dust. By that time, Shelby was in the dugout getting a much-needed drink before her turn at bat.

"Where'd you go?" she asked Roy when he came sauntering up to her.

"I had clothes in the dryer at my apartment complex, and I had to get them out before the little shit who lives upstairs sabotaged my laundry again," he replied.

"Sabotaged your laundry?"

"Yeah. He left a crayon in the dryer one time, and I didn't see it and threw some clothes in there. When I went to check on them later, I had melted purple crayon all over my dress shirts. I rewashed them, but the stains wouldn't come out. I ended up having to throw out every dress shirt I owned and buy new ones."

"Why would you think he did that on purpose?" Shelby asked, perhaps naively. As a kid, she never would've even thought of doing something like that. And if she had, and her parents had caught her, she justifiably would've been punished.

"Because after that happened I made sure to look every time I used the dryer, and I found other crayons in there. When I asked him if he put them there he stuck out his tongue and ran away."

"Did you tell his parents?"

"It wouldn't have done any good. One day I came home from work and the kid had a window open in his family's apartment—the screen had been popped out—and he was throwing children's and adults' clothes outside. They were hanging from tree limbs and scattered all over the lawn. I could hear his father screaming and cussing and threatening to kick his little ass.

"All the kid's parents do is yell—at each other and at the little shit and his brother and sister. But the kids still run wild, even after the landlady threatened to kick all of them out if they didn't knock it off.

"The other thing they do is blast their TV and stereo as if nobody is living beside or beneath them. I asked them nicely once if they'd turn it down, and the father told me to go 'F' myself.

"So now, whenever I hear something blaring from up there, I go out to the electrical box and turn off their power. And I just sit in my apartment and laugh while they stomp around up there, ranting and raving."

"Why don't you move?" Shelby asked what seemed like an obvious question.

"Can't really afford to," Roy replied. "Most places want first and last months' rent, and then there are the utility deposits and everything else on top of that. So I'm kind of stuck there right now."

Just then, Jarhead screamed at Shelby to get her ass up to home plate and bat, abruptly ending the conversation.

Chapter 10

**T** he more Shelby got to know Roy, the more she appreciated his sense of humor, his intelligence, his easy-going personality, his ambition (he'd found another computer programming job fairly quickly after leaving the last one) and his appreciation for her personal and professional accomplishments.

Unlike some other guys she'd dated, Roy never made Shelby feel like she had to be anything but herself.

He didn't even get upset when she struck him out swinging during a pickup softball game with some of her co-workers.

Roy was even an avid reader of the newspaper that Shelby wrote for, and he'd recognized her name when they'd first been introduced and she'd answered his question about what she did for a living.

"I've read some of your stories," he'd told her.

"Yeah, right," she'd replied.

"You don't believe me?"

"Uh, not really."

"Well, I have. You had one recently about the trial of those guys accused of being Klan members and plotting to make bombs from swimming pool chemicals."

"Wow, I guess you really do read my stuff. I apologize. Nothing personal, it's just that most people around here, even my own parents, read one of the two larger local dailies. It's cause for celebration when I see somebody buying my paper out of the rack."

"That's kind of sad."

"Tell me about it."

One evening when they were out to dinner and talking about their jobs, Roy asked Shelby, "So, why don't you go to work for one of those bigger newspapers?"

"I interned with the St. Petersburg paper one summer while I was still in college, and I was a part-time newsroom clerk there, too, for a couple of years. But when I graduated, I was told to go to a smaller paper first and get some experience," she explained.

"Then, hours after I was hired to work in Clearwater, a guy from the Tampa evening paper called and offered me a job. I told him I'd just accepted the Clearwater job and didn't feel right about changing my mind, and he told me I was making a big mistake.

"But I didn't really want to drive to Tampa at the time and, as it turned out, that paper ended up folding, so I might have been out of a job if I'd gone to work there.

"I've also had pretty weird interviews with two different editors at the Tampa morning paper."

"Weird in what way?" Roy asked.

"Just not real comfortable experiences. The first one, I asked the guy what openings they had and he rattled off a handful of reporting jobs, a couple of them in counties way north of Tampa. As diplomatically as I could, I told him I'd be interested in working in or around Tampa but didn't really want to move out of the area. And he said, 'You don't have any choice about where you'd be working if we hired you.' "

"What a dillweed."

"I thought so," Shelby said. "He also told me that he'd interviewed one of my co-workers in Clearwater, who was a good friend of mine, and asked her to name the three most talented reporters at our paper. He said she named me, herself and our cops reporter, in that order. So, of course, this guy ends up hiring her and not me. I never even heard back from him."

"Doesn't sound like somebody you'd have been happy working for. What happened the second time you interviewed there?"

"They were beefing up their staff to go head-to-head with the St. Pete paper in its home county and they wanted me to talk to this bureau editor they'd just hired. I was leaving on vacation the next day and he was in town briefly to look for a place to live. He was staying at this motel off the highway and asked me to come to his room for the interview."

"His room? Really? Did you?"

"Yeah. I was creeped out going on, but it was all aboveboard. We talked for a while; the editors in Tampa hadn't bothered to give him copies of my resume or my story samples, which we call clips, so he was asking me to recite from memory, word for word, the leads on stories I'd written months before.

"Then he asked me out to dinner with him and his wife, who was flying in from Jacksonville, where she was a bigwig at some bank. They hadn't been married for very long and hadn't seen each other in weeks. So, we picked her up at the airport and went to this restaurant on the causeway.

"They were ordering alcoholic drinks and the waiter asked what I wanted. I wasn't comfortable ordering booze during a job interview, but they were looking at me like they expected me to get something, so I asked for the first thing that came to my mind.

"When the waiter brought the drinks, the wife looked down her nose at mine, which was in a bottle instead of a fancy cocktail glass, and said, 'What is that?' I said, 'It's a wine cooler.' And she looked at me like I'd ordered ripple.

"This woman was the biggest witch," Shelby continued. "The whole time she kept making snide comments about how the job market here couldn't possibly be as good as it was in Jacksonville. You'd have thought she'd been working in New York City or somewhere as big.

"And she kept belittling her husband and his profession, saying he'd never make the kind of money in journalism that she could make in banking, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."

"She really said that in front of you?" Roy asked. "What a shrew. You sure that wasn't my ex-wife?"

"Ha! I swear, I was embarrassed for the guy, and there were times I felt like they'd forgotten I was even in the back seat of the car or at the table. It was the strangest job interview I've ever had."

"Did the dipwad ever offer you a job?"

"Nope. A few weeks after that interview, I was covering a hearing at the courthouse—that's the job I'd said I was most interested in, covering criminal courts—when this guy walks up and introduces himself as the new courts reporter for the Tampa paper. That's how I found out that position had been filled."

"Nice. Bet that made you feel really good."

"Oh, yeah, but after the Twilight Zone interview with that new editor, I figured it was par for the course, you know?"

"So, you've obviously covered lots of criminal trials. What other kinds of stories have you written?" Roy asked.

"Hmm, let's see. I once interviewed Mary Kay Ash, the founder and 'queen bee' of Mary Kay cosmetics. I interviewed a trainer at Busch Gardens when they had a dolphin show there, and he had one of the dolphins come up out of the water and onto the pool deck so I could pet it."

"Cool! What did its skin feel like?"

"A rubber inner tube, like from a car or truck tire. Or a hard-boiled egg white.

"I also did a phone interview with one of the Apollo 16 astronauts who walked on the moon. And for a while I did concert reviews. That was really fun. I got to cover Michael Jackson when he came to Jacksonville at the height of his Thriller popularity."

Roy looked suitably impressed, then asked, "What about the stories that weren't so fun."

"Probably the thing reporters hate most is interviewing families of people murdered or killed in accidents," Shelby said. "I've had people hang up on me more than once and shut doors in my face.

"But then, to balance out those times when you feel like a total shit for bothering them, there are people who thank you for giving them the chance to have their loved one remembered in a positive way, rather than as just another victim of a tragedy."

"I never thought of it that way."

"I probably never would've, either."

"So, have you ever felt afraid or threatened while on an assignment?"

"Yeah, when I was an intern, still in college, and was sent to cover a Ku Klux Klan rally."

"Oh, man. What happened?" Roy asked.

Chapter 11

" **I** t was the summer of '79 and David Duke, then the grand wizard of a Klan group out of Louisiana, was speaking at a rally in a field out in the boonies north of Clearwater," Shelby recalled. "I pulled off the road, parked and got out of the car with my camera and notebook.

"Next thing I knew, a couple guys wearing cartridge belts—you know, the ones that hold bullets—came trotting up and told me I couldn't photograph the rally. So, I put the camera in the trunk and went up to the gate where these other guys were standing guard, and they saw the notebook and asked if I was a reporter. I said yes, and they told me I couldn't come in.

"I said, 'Look, I called your organizers before I drove all the way up here and they said they didn't have a problem with the press covering this. They knew I was coming.'

"By that time, the guys who'd confronted me about the camera had joined us and I said, 'You told me I could be here as long as I didn't take pictures.' They said, 'Plans just changed. No press allowed.' "

"What'd you do then?" Roy asked.

"I got back in my car and drove south for a few miles until I came to this strip shopping plaza still under construction. We didn't have cell phones back then, of course, so I found a phone booth, called my editor and told him what was going on. He said, 'Go back up there, identify yourself again, ask them to let you in and, if they refuse, ask them for their names.' "

Roy frowned and shook his head.

"By the time I got back up there, it was darker than hell because there were no streetlights, no houses, not much of anything in the area back then. The guys at the gate had put on their Klan robes and hoods, and they were holding shotguns. And they'd lit a big wooden cross on fire."

"Oh, geez."

"Yeah. It was all I could do not to wet my pants. So, I walked up to these guys and told them my name and, again, what paper I was working for—and they didn't say a word. They just stood there, blocking the gate and staring at me.

"So I said, 'I bet you're not going to let me in, are you?' And one of the guys just shook his head no. Then I said, 'And I bet you're not going to tell me your names, are you?' And he shook his head no again.

"Then I walked back to my car, and by that time the rally had started and there was a bigger cross burning out in the field where the crowd had gathered. It was a ways from the road and I couldn't see much of what was going on, but I heard them introduce David Duke over the loudspeaker, and I could make out most of what he was saying. I stood there near my car on the shoulder of the road, about 50 yards from the gate, and took notes in the dark."

"Geeeez. Were you out there along the road by yourself?"

"No, thankfully there were a couple of photographers from other papers, and one of them was a really big guy and I kind of huddled over by him because there were rednecks pulling on and off the road, whooping and hollering, and I was afraid I was going to get run over."

"For the love of...then what happened?" Roy asked.

"Once I figured I had enough to write a story, I drove back to the phone booth in the strip plaza, which was now deserted because it was late, and I called my editor again. He said, 'Okay, go ahead and start dictating your story.' I said, 'I haven't had a chance to write anything on paper yet. I came directly back from the rally and called you like you told me to.' He said, 'That's fine, you don't need to write anything down. Just take a minute to look at your notes and start dictating your story.' "

"No way I could've done that," Roy said.

"I wasn't sure I could either, but I had no choice. I got through it, though, and all I could think as I was driving home was that I was never going to tell my mother what I'd done at work that night. And I never have."

"Would she have freaked?"

"Oh, hell, yeah. You've got to remember, my dad was a homicide detective and my mother had heard way too many stories about what could happen to women out alone at night.

"Even now, my mother worries about something happening to me. In her mind, I'm either fine or I'm dead in a ditch. There's no in between."

Chapter 12

**O** ne day on the phone, Roy sounded nervous about something, and Shelby finally found out what it was when he asked innocently, "So, I have my kids this weekend. You want to come over and hang out with us?"

Shelby knew he had two kids; he'd told her that right up front. But they'd been dating for a few months and he'd never invited her to meet them. Shelby figured he'd do that when he was ready and more sure of their relationship, and now appeared to be the time.

"That would be great," Shelby said. "I can't wait to meet your kids."

"Yeah, they're pretty excited about meeting you, too."

"Really? What did you tell them about me?"

"Oh, you know, that you're smart and athletic and a reporter—and sexy as hell."

Shelby opened her mouth to say something and then quickly closed it. "Is that so? I'm sure Dillon was thrilled to hear that. He's what, twelve?"

"Thirteen."

"And Carrie's ten?"

"Yeah."

"So what did you really tell them?"

"Just that you're my girlfriend and I was going to ask you to come over and play video games and stuff."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much. Why, what should I have told them?"

"Uh, nothing. They didn't ask any questions?"

"Well, Carrie asked me if you're nice and I said yes. And Dillon asked if you're pretty and I said yeah, you are. And then he went back to playing Super Mario Brothers and she stuck her nose back in her Baby-Sitters Club book."

"I can see I made quite an impression," Shelby said, feigning hurt feelings.

"You know how kids are. They have short attention spans. You're not worried about meeting them, are you?"

"No, of course not. I love kids and they usually like me. I've told you that."

"I remember. They're typical kids, but they're good kids."

"I can't wait to meet them."

***

ANY ANXIETY SHELBY HAD was dispelled soon after she walked through Roy's front door that evening. His kids were friendly and talkative and seemed genuinely glad to meet and spend time with her.

Shelby found herself thoroughly enjoying their company.

It was also obvious that Roy was a devoted dad who could be just as big a kid as they were when it was time for fun.

"You're going down, bucko," Roy taunted his son as they sat side by side, cross-legged in front of the TV. Their thumbs were in constant motion on their Nintendo gaming controllers as each took his turn.

"No, you are, old man," Dillon promised, his eyes gleaming. "I'm gonna...aaaaaaaargh! That stupid fireball got me!"

"Ha! That's what you get for getting such a big head and trying to show me up."

"I didn't show you up, you just sucked wind down in that castle dungeon."

"Sucked wind? I'll show you who's sucking wind."

"When's it gonna be my turn again?" Carrie whined, interrupting their trash talking. "You guys are taking too long. I wanna play."

"You and your brother each played for 20 minutes straight before Shelby and I even got one turn," Roy told his daughter. "Have patience."

"Let me play and then Shelby," Carrie said. "You wanna play, don't you, Shelby?"

"Sure, but I'm really in no big hurry," she replied. "I stink. I only last about twenty seconds before my guy dies."

"You just need more practice," Dillon informed her.

"Well, duh, dude," Carrie said, making a face at her brother. "Remember how bad Dad sucked when he first started playing Super Mario Brothers?"

"Hey, I resemble that remark," Roy protested, one corner of his mouth quirking up the way it did when he was pretending not to be amused.

"C'mon, Carrie," Shelby said. "Let's let these two goofheads get it out of their systems while we make some popcorn."

"Good idea. And they can't have any."

"Unless they ask us nicely. And give us an extra turn."

"Look out for that turtle shell! Aaaaargh!" Roy hollered at the gaming screen as Shelby and Carrie disappeared into the kitchen.

Chapter 13

**A** nd that's pretty much the way the night went. Finally, at about midnight, Shelby could see the kids' eyelids drooping and decided it was time to go home.

"You going to be okay driving this late?" Roy asked, wishing he could invite her to stay.

"Sure. I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

"Call me when you get home so I know you made it, all right?"

"No problem. Hey, Carrie and Dillon, I had a lot of fun with you guys tonight. Enjoy the rest of the weekend with your dad."

"We will," they said in unison. Carrie jumped up from the couch and followed the adults to the door.

"Hey, Shelby, maybe next time we're here you can come over and we'll play Clue."

"Clue? I haven't played that in years. You like Yahtzee? I'll bring it and we can play that, too."

"I'm not so sure about Clue," Roy told his daughter. "Your brother always cheats, and you end up crying."

"I don't cheat!" Dillon said with misplaced indignation as he slouched on the couch.

"Yes, you do. You cheat at a lot of games," Carrie accused.

"And you get all upset, just like a big baby."

"Hey, guys," Roy interrupted. "You keep arguing and Shelby won't want to come back."

"Reminds me of me and my brother," she told them. "See you guys later. I'll be sure to bring Yahtzee next time and whip all your raggedy, wrinkly behinds."

***

BY VALENTINE'S DAY, SHELBY Shelby was so confident in her relationship with Roy that she'd written a column for the newspaper about how she used to feel so left out on that particular holiday but no longer did.

Allie, though, wasn't so lucky. Although she'd grown pretty attached to Roy, she was suffering in silence, as Shelby had for so many years, at being unrelentingly unattached.

It hadn't been quite so difficult when Shelby was in the same circumstances. But now she was in love, and while Allie was happy for her friend, she was left to wonder if it ever would be her turn.

For years, she'd had a huge crush on a guy named John who lived in her neighborhood with his parents and sister. His family was friendly with the doctor and his wife who Allie lived with and worked for, so she regularly saw John at holiday gatherings and other get-togethers.

Whenever her friends chattered away about their boyfriends or husbands, Allie dropped John's name into the conversation as if it was just a matter of time before he asked her out. Allie eventually realized that wasn't likely, but she held out hope for far longer than her friends thought was wise.

She finally dropped the pretense when she learned John had a steady girlfriend and they were talking about getting married. And when the neighboring families had a big falling out, Allie referred to him for a while as "that idiot" before she stopped mentioning him altogether.

***

"YOU BRINGING ANYBODY TO Jamie's wedding," Shelby asked as they looked over the invitations from their softball teammate that had recently arrived in the mail.

"Yeah, I'm bringing Andrew," Allie replied, referring to the disabled young man for whom she was the live-in caretaker.

"I meant a guy."

"Andrew's a guy."

"You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do," Allie said, giving her friend a challenging look. "Andrew was invited, too, so of course we're going together. What's wrong with that?"

Shelby sighed. "There's nothing wrong with that. He'll have a blast. He always does. But for once, wouldn't you like to bring a date?"

"How can I bring a date if I'm taking Andrew?"

"You're missing the point."

"No, I'm not. But I think you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shelby asked, getting irritated now.

Chapter 14

**A** s much as Shelby loved her friend, Allie could be really obstinate, especially when it came to the sore subject of her love life, or lack thereof.

"It means that just because you found a great guy," Allie said, "you don't have to give me crap because I haven't found somebody."

"I'm not giving you crap, and you know it. I just want you to be happy and find somebody who appreciates how wonderful you are."

"Oh, puhleeeze. You just don't want to share Roy so I'll have somebody to dance with at the reception."

"What? I can't believe you just said that! You of all people know how long it took me to find the right guy," Shelby retorted. "I don't care if he dances with you or buys you a freaking drink! That's one of the things I love about him, that he gets along so well with my friends.

"You're his friend, too, Allie, not just somebody his girlfriend hangs around with. Where's this coming from?

"I'm just tired of being the wheel."

"The wheel?"

"Yeah, you know: the third wheel, the fifth wheel, the seventh wheel..."

"I know how that feels, Allie, and I know how much fun it isn't. But you'll meet somebody. You just have to put yourself out there."

"Out where? You act like I never leave the house. I go places."

"Yes, you do, but you're always with Andrew or the softball team. You don't give a guy much of a chance to approach you one-on-one."

"Look, Shelby. I don't have the freedom you do to come and go as I please. I don't have a job where I meet all kinds of people. I don't get to go to Busch Gardens and ride around on the truck that delivers hay to the giraffes. I don't get to interview astronauts or review concerts or hang out at the courthouse with good-looking lawyers or interview Major League Baseball stars about their Christian faith."

"Wow, Allie. Are you pissed at me because I'm happy?"

"No, of course not. I'm glad you have an interesting career and are in love with a great guy. Really, I am. And I can't imagine not having Andrew in my life. I just want it to be my turn for a change."

Shelby wanted that for her friend, too, and she wished she could say something to make Allie feel better. But she knew that Allie's current circumstances, especially her reluctance to spend much time away from Andrew, drastically reduced her chances of finding romance.

And Shelby also knew that she'd never be so insensitive as to bluntly spell that out in Allie's presence.

***

ROY'S APARTMENT LEASE WAS set to expire, and he couldn't wait to get away from the noise and hassle caused by neighbors who took being ill-bred and ill-mannered to new heights.

He'd been looking around Clearwater for a place he could afford that was reasonably close to work, his kids and Shelby. Given that his kids lived on one side of the county and Shelby on the other, he was concentrating on finding something somewhere in the middle.

One evening he came home from work to find that the window over his kitchen sink had been jimmied open and the screen slit. After the police came and the place was dusted for fingerprints, he finally caught his breath long enough to call Shelby and tell her what happened.

"That's awful! What did they take?" she asked, concern coloring her voice.

"Just the VCR—the jackass didn't even take the remote—and this old metal coin bank shaped like a rocket that was in the back of my bedroom closet. It was pretty full, but there couldn't have been more than thirty bucks in there."

"You're lucky they didn't take your TV and your stereo."

"The cops said they probably were after stuff they could easily carry out and pawn. Apparently, there've been other break-ins around Clearwater where the same type of stuff has been taken."

"Did they mess up your apartment?"

"Not really," Roy said. "The dresser drawers were pawed through and the jackass rooted around in the bedroom closet and dumped out the clothes in my laundry baskets. And there's black fingerprint powder all over the place from the crime scene techs. Otherwise, the apartment is pretty much as I left it this morning."

"I don't like the fact that somebody got inside so easily. I'm worried about you staying there."

"I don't like it either, but I doubt the burglar will be back."

"Still," Shelby said, "I think you should pack up your stuff and come stay with me. You've only got a couple weeks left on your lease anyway."

"And while I'm staying with you I'll keep looking for another place to live?"

"You could. Or not."

"Yeah? You want us to live together?"

"I do if you want to."

"And I do if you want to."

"What'll your kids think about it?"

"They won't care. They think you're great."

"I think they're pretty great, too."

"Plus, it'll be good for them to see a loving, healthy relationship, unlike the way their mother uses guys with lots of money, which she's never forgiven me for not being. The question is, will you mind having them stay with us every other weekend?"

"It'll be an adjustment, obviously. But if we're going to have a future together, it's going to happen sometime, right?"

"Right, but you have to be okay with it or it's not going to work."

"I'm more than okay with it. I love you, and I love your kids."

"I love you, too. And so do they."

"Okay, then. Pack up what you'll need for tonight and the next few days and come over, Roy. We'll get some boxes and pack up the rest of your stuff later this week."

"That sounds good, Shelby. Really, really good."

***

IF SHELBY WAS WORRIED about how living with Roy would affect his kids, she didn't need to be. They accepted her elevated status in their father's life without question or fanfare.

Which wasn't to say that life was one giant Hallmark card.

Shelby wasn't accustomed to living with the noise and the mess that kids invariably created. She wasn't a clean freak, but she was used to a certain amount of order in her life, and it bugged her to no end when the sink filled up with cups because they grabbed a clean one out of the cabinet every time they wanted a drink.

Shelby also found that she got little privacy in a one-bedroom apartment that became too cramped every other weekend. Pretty soon, it became obvious that when Shelby's lease was up they'd need to find a larger place to live.

In the meantime, Shelby's feisty Fischer's lovebird, Peeper, seemed intent on letting Roy's kids know they'd have to earn their place in the household pecking order. As far as Peeper was concerned, she ranked just below Shelby, and some days even that was debatable.

One Saturday morning, Dillon was lying on his stomach on the living room carpet, slurping a bowl of cereal and watching cartoons. From the corner of his eye, he saw Peeper climb down the ladder that hung below her open cage door and march across the floor toward him. She clamped her bright red-orange beak onto the lip of the bowl, hoisted herself up and helped herself to his breakfast.

"Hey, get off there! That's mine!" Dillon told the little avian agitator. "Shoo! Go back to your cage!"

Chapter 15

**P** eeper screeched and backed off the bowl, but when her claws hit the carpet, instead of retreating she dug in and started a tug-of-war in true David and Goliath fashion.

"Shelby! Dad! Make her stop!" Dillon hollered.

Shelby popped her head out of the kitchen expecting to find Dillon and his sister at it again. Seeing the boy versus bird battle, she started laughing and called to Roy, "C'mere. You've got to see this."

"It sounds like somebody's getting killed in here," he said, coming out of the bedroom as Peeper's shrill protests all but drowned out the TV. "What the...ha! Now, that's something you don't see every day."

Roy walked over, scooped up the pint-sized pest and held her so they were nose to beak.

"Leave the boy alone," he told Peeper, clearly enunciating each word. He gave the bird's feather-soft head an affectionate rub and placed her gently back inside her cage.

Then he walked into the kitchen, picked up the cereal box off the counter, opened the lid and extracted a few pieces of Cap'n Crunch. He carried them back into the living room, and slipped them between the cage bars and into Peeper's feed bowl.

"Is everybody settled now? Everybody happy?" Roy asked, looking first at Peeper, then at Shelby and finally at Dillon, who'd resumed shoveling soggy cereal into his mouth. "Can I go get a shower while there's still some hot water left?"

Shelby walked over to Roy, went up on tiptoe and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips.

"My hero," she said with a smile. "Whatever would I do without you?"

"Lucky for you, you won't ever have to find out," he said with a grin and a wink. Then he gave her a quick kiss and headed into the bathroom.

***

"SO, WHAT DO YOU want for your birthday?" Roy asked Shelby one night as they snuggled together on the couch watching Monday Night Football.

"Hmm. I don't know. I haven't really thought that much about it. Don't spend a bunch of money, though. It's just a birthday, no big deal."

"It most certainly is a big deal. It's the big three-O."

"Like I said, no big deal," Shelby said with a dismissive shrug.

"Oh, no, no, no. You're not getting away with downplaying your thirtieth birthday, Shelby. It's a milestone and you should get a special present."

"Yeah? What did you have in mind?" she asked with a saucy shake of her head, thinking he was up to something.

Roy had never asked her before for a gift suggestion. He'd just picked out something he thought she'd like and, so far, she'd loved all his presents.

"Oh, I don't know. You like jewelry, right?"

"Yes, I certainly do."

"Is there a particular kind of jewelry you have your heart set on, like maybe earrings or a watch or a necklace or, I don't know...a ring maybe?"

Shelby just looked at him for a minute as butterflies started fluttering big time in her belly. She knew what he was asking but didn't want to come right out and say, "Sure, buy me an engagement ring." Getting engaged wasn't going to be a surprise, but she wanted to preserve at least a little of the mystery.

When they'd moved in together, it had been with the understanding that they'd work toward getting married. That's how Shelby had phrased it—"work toward getting married"—because she'd wanted to make the point that she expected a committed relationship but would give him time to settle into the idea and learn to trust again.

Now, he seemed to have come a long way from the gun-shy guy he'd been even six months ago.

As Roy gazed at her expectantly, Shelby gave him a coy little grin and lobbed the ball back to his side of the net.

"I think jewelry would be a wonderful gift," she told him, "but I'll leave it up to you to decide what to buy. Does that work for you?"

Roy's face lit up with a smile, and he leaned in to give Shelby a lingering kiss.

"Oh, yeah," he finally said. "That works for me just fine."

***

AS IT HAPPENED, SHELBY'S birthday fell on a softball night. She wasn't the type to announce that it was her birthday, and neither Roy nor Allie said anything about it in front of the team.

When Roy insisted they head over to a nearby sports bar as usual after the game, Shelby figured she'd just have to wait a little longer to get her gift when they got home.

Roy settled in at the pulled-together tables with a pitcher of beer while Shelby deposited her purse on the chair next to him and called dibs on the Ping-Pong table. She and the shortstop were locked in a spirited game when, as she chased an errantly bouncing ball, she happened to glance over and notice that Roy wasn't where she'd left him.

She looked around the bar and didn't see him but didn't think much of it. She figured he'd gone to the men's room.

Thirst and the thought of the root beer over ice that Roy always ordered for her finally drove her back to the tables. A few minutes later Roy reappeared, carrying a big white box.

"What did you do?" Shelby asked in a mock scolding voice.

Roy just smiled, set the box on the table, and pulled paper plates and plastic forks out of a grocery bag that he'd had hidden in his car trunk.

"Go round everybody up and tell them there's cake to eat," he told one of Shelby's teammates.

As their signature conga to I Heard It Through the Grapevine on the jukebox ended and they all migrated back to the tables, they chided Shelby for not telling them it was her birthday.

"It's not a big deal," she said, even though she was flattered by the attention.

"Oh, puhleeeze," Allie said, looking self-satisfied for having helped Roy pull off this little surprise. "It's Shelby's thirtieth birthday, people! The big three-O!"

Roy leaned over and whispered in Shelby's ear, "You look good for your age." She laughed and swatted his arm.

As slices of cake made their way around the table, Shelby's teammates lifted their glasses and beer bottles in a toast and sang a very loud, very off-key rendition of Happy Birthday To You.

And then Roy pulled a little box wrapped in gold paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.

Chapter 16

**S** helby's eyes widened, but she kept her cool as she carefully pulled off the paper and looked inside the box. As an expectant hush settled over the tables, Shelby looked up with a smile on her face and intently locked eyes with Roy.

Words weren't needed.

Finally, her teammates broke the silence. "What is it? What'd you get? C'mon, Shelby, show us!" they shouted over each other.

Shelby, her eyes sparkling, calmly turned the box around so everyone could see the diamond ring inside, and bedlam ensued.

"Oh my God!" several of the women shrieked. "An engagement ring! Oh my God!"

"Are you going to say yes?" someone else shouted. "Say something, Shelby."

As she looked around the tables, then back at Roy, he took the box from her hand, pulled out the ring and slipped it on her finger.

"If it doesn't fit, we can take it and get it sized," he told her.

"It fits perfectly," she said. "How did you know what size I wear?"

"I took your birthstone ring and traced around the band on a piece of paper, then showed it to the jeweler," Roy replied.

"What a smart guy I'm marrying," Shelby said, and the tables erupted again as all the women began talking at once. Coach Jarhead thumped Roy on the back in congratulations, let loose a loud belch and bellowed, "Bachelor party!"

"That was pretty gutsy, Roy," another guy sitting with them said. "What would you have done if she'd said no?"

"She wasn't going to say no," Roy said quietly as he and Shelby exchanged a knowing look.

***

"HAVE YOU GUYS SET a date yet?" Allie asked during a rare girls' day out with Shelby about a month after she'd gotten engaged.

They were having lunch at a popular salad buffet restaurant also known for its soups, baked goods and soft-serve ice cream. The first two specialties didn't seem to go together with the last two, as far as healthful eating, but the place was always packed and the two friends were lucky to find an empty table.

"Yes, Memorial Day weekend, so save that Saturday night," Shelby replied as she spooned some black bean chili into her mouth. "Mmm. I love this stuff. You should try it. Want a taste?"

"No, I'll stick with this focaccia pizza. It's really good. You should go get a piece before it's all gone."

"It looks good, but I'm saving room for another bowl of chili. And I still have all this salad to eat. I can't believe, well, yeah, I can believe it, but I hate to see people pile a ton of food on their plates and then not even eat half of it. It's a sin all the food that gets wasted in here."

"Yeah, starving children in Africa and all that."

"I'm serious."

"I know, and you're right. That's why the prices keep going up. If it gets any more expensive, I'm not going to be able to eat here anymore."

"I hear you. At least we had a coupon. Anyway, back to the wedding.

"I told Roy I want to get married while I'm still thirty years old, even if only by a few weeks. The wedding's going to be outside by a little lake; okay, it's really a retention pond, but it's very scenic. The end of May should be almost perfect weather wise."

"Yeah, you don't really want to have it any later than late May or early June if it's outside. So, you guys decided not to get married in a church. What'll your parents say about that?" Allie asked.

"What can they say? I don't go to church regularly anymore and neither does Roy, and I don't want to be a hypocrite.

"Besides, to get married in the Catholic Church, Roy would have to get an annulment. Sure, let's pay a bunch of money for a piece of paper saying that a marriage that lasted twelve years and produced two children never existed. That's just beyond ridiculous.

"Then there's the whole idea of having premarital counseling with a priest. I'm not going to sit there and lie and say we aren't living together and that we're not using birth control. You know how the Church feels about that.

"I am going to have a minister officiate at the wedding, though. The psychologist I used to go to is a Methodist minister, and I asked him to perform the ceremony."

"You went to a psychologist?" Allie asked. "How come you never told me that?"

"I did tell you that."

"You most certainly did not."

"I most certainly did. Didn't I?"

"No, you didn't. How long did you go to him?"

"For more than a year. I started going well before I met Roy, and I probably wouldn't be getting married now if I hadn't gotten counseling."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I had a real complex about letting any guy get that close to me. You saw the men I dated before I met Roy. They were all pretty harmless, and half of them were looking for a mommy figure. The ones who wanted to get all touchy-feely too quickly, well, they didn't last long."

"I always figured you just hadn't met the right guy yet."

"That was a big part of it. But I grew up thinking that guys only wanted one thing and that I wasn't the type of girl most would take a second look at."

"What are you talking about?" Allie said, indignant on her friend's behalf. "What guy wouldn't be lucky to be with you?"

"Thanks, Allie, but let's face it: I have average looks, I don't dress sexy, I'm not sure I'm even the least bit sexy, my thighs are too big and my boobs aren't big enough."

"Oh, puhleeeze. If all guys wanted were big boobs I'd be beating men off with a stick, which I'm obviously not."

"Roy isn't a breast man, thank goodness. He loves me just the way I am."

"And well he should. So, you think this psychologist really helped you, huh?"

"He definitely did. Lack of self-confidence was really holding me back, and I also had this idea that everything had to be perfect in a relationship for it to work. I'd write off a guy before I even got to really know him. Going to Dr. Heller, I learned a lot about myself and what kind of person I want to spend my life with."

"So, did you tell this psychologist about Roy not wanting to have more kids?"

"I'm sure that'll come up when we go for our premarital counseling session in a few months. But I'm okay with it. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be marrying Roy."

"I always thought you wanted to be a mom."

"I did," Shelby said. "After my niece was born, I wanted a child of my own so badly I almost couldn't stand it. But I wasn't even dating anybody, and my prospects for finding the right guy back then were pretty slim. Then, my niece hit the terrible twos and I wasn't quite as eager to have kids as I was before.

"I still love kids, don't get me wrong. I adore my niece, and it's fun when the moms on the team bring their little ones to practice and games and I get to play with them. But I also like the idea that I can give them back when they get cranky or need their diapers changed.

"By the time I met Roy, I'd become ambivalent about having kids of my own. So when he told me he didn't want to start over with diapers and midnight feedings and all that, I totally understood. And I realized I want him way more than I want to have babies."

"Think you'll ever regret that decision?"

"My mother asked me that same question," Shelby replied. "I hope I don't, but I don't think I will. I've gotten used to being able to do pretty much what I want, when I want to do it. I'm happy with my life the way it is. And besides, I'm going to be a stepmother. It's kind of the best of both worlds."

"You're so lucky," Allie said wistfully. "You've found a great guy, he has great kids and you're going to live happily ever after. I'm not so sure it's ever going to happen for me."

"It will. You'll meet someone when you least expect it."

"If you say so. But I don't think so."

"I do. These guys just don't know what they're missing."

"Damn straight."

Chapter 17

**S** helby's bridal shower was a raucous affair that left her mortified in front of her mother.

It started innocently enough with the usual finger foods and practical household gifts. But it soon degenerated into a phallic fest when the party's hostess, Dana, a softball teammate and co-worker, pulled out the X-rated games and gag gifts.

First, she made Shelby model fake eyeglasses that had a penis where a Cyrano-sized nose should be.

Then Dana enticed everyone into playing a game she dubbed "Pin the Joy Toy on Roy," which involved blindfolded players, a decapitated Playgirl centerfold with a new hand-drawn head and a missing crotch, and the excised sexual organ wielded like the detached tail of a paper donkey.

"You don't have to play if you don't want to," a rapidly reddening Shelby whispered to her mother as the contest began.

"What kind of a sport would I be if I didn't?" her mother whispered back as the first player blindly stuck the "toy" in the vicinity of Roy's ear and the hooting and sexual innuendos began.

When it was Shelby's turn, she strutted with false bravado to the poster on the wall, fought off dizziness as she was blindfolded and spun in a circle three times, and then proceeded to pin faux Roy's manhood near the crack of his extremely taut rear end.

"Oh my God, that's not where it goes!" one of the girls shouted as the others laughed and carried on. "Don't anyone tell Roy his future wife thinks he likes it up the—"

"Too much information!" Allie interrupted, giving Shelby a wink.

The bride-to-be's mother, buoyed by a couple glasses of spiked punch, broke out into a saucy little dance when she pinned the paper penis on Roy's thigh.

"He's hanging a little too much to the left, but that was pretty close," Dana shouted above the din.

When it was Allie's turn, she sneaked a peek beneath the blindfold and zeroed in with laser-like intensity on the pinup's gaping groin hole.

"No fair! No fair! Allie, you cheated!" the women shouted over each other. "Spin her again!"

Dana grabbed her and spun her at least five times before letting her go, and Allie began to wobble around the room before she bumped into a chair and made a big show of nearly falling into it.

"Geez, at least point me in the right direction," she said, reaching for the blindfold.

"Oh no, you don't," Dana said, grabbing Allie's hands and leading her over in front of the poster. "Now, he's dead ahead. Go get 'em."

"C'mon, Allie, show us how it's done," Shelby encouraged.

Walking with the paper sex organ held out in front of her like a divining rod, Allie closed in on her target and attached the appendage with a flourish. The catcalls climaxed as Allie yanked off her blindfold and, seeing the result of her efforts, thunked herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand.

"I guess I need more practice," Allie said, bursting into laughter as the phallus jutted jauntily from faux Roy's sculpted chin.

***

THE BACHELORETTE PARTY A few weeks later was almost as bawdy as the bridal shower. Shelby's teammates had pooled their money and bought her a black lace teddy and matching thigh-high stockings and garter belt.

"Wooooo, Roy's gonna love that!" the softball players enthused. "Shelby, go try it on. We wanna see how it fits."

"Trust me, girls, that's not something you want to see," Shelby said as her face flamed.

"Oh, c'mon, Shelby, you're no fun."

"I'll leave that up to Roy to decide."

"Speaking of Roy, whatcha think he and the other guys are doing right now?" asked the second baseman, whose boyfriend had organized the bachelor outing.

"They said they were going to a Clearwater Phillies game and then who knows," Shelby answered.

"I'll bet they skipped the game and went straight to a strip club," said Sandy, the right fielder, whose fiancé was also with the group. "I told Tom he could go but that he'd damn well better not enjoy it or the wedding is off."

"I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard you say the wedding is off," Shelby said. "I'd be going to Europe on my honeymoon."

The guys indeed had gone to a minor-league baseball game, where they drank a few beers, smoked a few cigars and wondered what their wives and girlfriends were up to.

After the game, they headed to a topless bar, not because any of them particularly enjoyed that kind of thing, but because it was pretty much an expected rite of passage.

"Don't order anything in a glass," Roy advised his buddies as he looked around the shabby interior. "You're much safer ordering something in a bottle."

Once they had their drinks, somebody got the brilliant idea to pool their cash and buy Roy a lap dance.

"Don't waste your money, guys, I'm not going to do it," he said as they began throwing bills on the table. "Seriously, there's no way I'm letting one of these women touch me. And even if they had all their teeth, I still wouldn't do it."

"Damn, man, this is your bachelor party, your last chance to get it out of your system," one of the guys wheedled.

"Shelby trusts me," Roy replied, "and I'd never do anything to make her doubt it. Besides, she's the only woman I want touching me."

"Awww, ain't that sweet," someone said sarcastically and began making kissing noises.

"Okay, wiseass, why don't you be the one to get the lap dance," Roy said. "There's a girl right there who looks like a good candidate. Call her over."

At that moment, the scantily clad woman turned around and Roy and his friends nearly choked on their beer as they stared at her massively protruding belly.

"Good God, she looks like she's ready to give birth any minute," Tom said. "I can't believe she's that pregnant and still dancing in a topless bar. That's just...beyond gross and really, really wrong."

A few beers later, Roy was in the mood to liven things up. He stood, waved his arms and shouted, "Attention, everybody! May I have your attention? This is a police raid. Put your drinks down and your hands up!"

The attempt at humor was lost on the scary-looking strangers at tables nearby who whirled around and stared daggers at the groom-to-be.

"Kidding! He's just kidding, folks," Tom quickly assured the crowd. "Show's over. Go back to what you were doing. Nothing to see here."

Then he grabbed Roy and hustled him toward the door before he got any more brilliant ideas.

***

THE WEEK BEFORE HER wedding, Shelby was standing at first base after getting a base hit during her Thursday night softball game. The next batter smacked a line drive that looked like it would get through for another hit, but the opposing team's shortstop lunged to her left and snared the ball on the fly. Shelby had taken a few steps toward second but quickly skidded to a stop and ducked back into first base.

The shortstop didn't have much of a chance at a double play, but she flung the ball toward first anyway and it smacked Shelby in the back of the head, a few inches from her right ear. She immediately crumpled to the clay.

Stunned, she lay there for a minute or so until a crowd started to gather around her.

"I'm okay," she said, sitting up and lifting her hand so someone would help her to her feet.

"Are you sure?" asked the umpire. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yeah, I'm at first base," Shelby quipped. Seeing the mix of concern and irritation on the umpire's face, she answered more seriously, "I'm at the Southeast Recreation Complex in Clearwater."

"Do you know what day it is?"

"Yes, it's Thursday."

"Okay, if you want to stay in the game, let's play ball," the umpire said, satisfied with her answers.

After a teammate made the third out, Shelby trotted back to the bench to get her glove and went out to the pitcher's mound for another inning. But as the game progressed, her head throbbed and her neck muscles began to tighten up. Soon, she barely could turn her head, so she sat out the rest of the game.

When Roy asked her afterward if she wanted to go eat with the team, she told him her head hurt and she wanted to go home.

"How come you didn't come over to the bench after I got whacked to see if I was okay?" she asked, a sullen expression on her face.

"You got up and finished the inning, and then you went back out and pitched. I figured you weren't hurt," Roy replied.

"Well, I am hurt," she said, irked because she was getting little sympathy.

"Well, I'm sorry. I thought you were okay."

"Well, I'm not."

"Are you going to live?" he asked teasingly. Then, seeing she was in no mood for that, he added, "Do you need to go to the emergency room?"

"No, it's not that bad. But I got hit pretty hard. You know if I voluntarily come out of a game that I must be hurting."

"Let's get you home and get some ice on it. You'll feel better in the morning."

Except she didn't.

So, she called her chiropractor and got him to fit her into the schedule for a massage. As the therapist worked on her neck and shoulders, Shelby realized she was lucky the injury hadn't happened a couple days before her nuptials.

Her mother had been worried about her spraining an ankle or blowing out a knee and being on crutches on her big day. But Shelby had shrugged off the suggestion that she take herself out of the lineup until after the honeymoon.

Now, she was thinking that wasn't such a bad idea.

Chapter 18

**O** n the morning of her wedding, Shelby was such a nervous wreck that she did something she'd never done before: She called Allie and asked if the doctor she worked for and lived with—Andrew's father—could prescribe an anti-anxiety medication.

Shelby wasn't thinking straight or she'd have realized she couldn't just swallow a pill or two and immediately take care of the problem. And she found it of no help when the doctor suggested she coat her stomach with a bubblegum-pink liquid remedy purchased over the counter.

It wasn't that Shelby was freaked out about marrying Roy; no, she was on edge at the prospect of being the center of attention, convinced she'd do something embarrassing like stumble in her heels or, worse, twist an ankle.

Her bridal shoes weren't even that high, but her ankles and knees were weak from too much sports-related punishment, and they picked the most inopportune times to fail her. She rarely wore shoes that weren't flats or close to it.

Shelby hadn't been able to eat anything all morning, so when Roy suggested hitting a fast-food drive-through for lunch, she resisted shaking him and asking how on earth he could eat at a time like this.

"You don't want me to bring you back anything?" he asked, not grasping that her intestines felt like they were being twirled and tied in knots.

"No, nothing. Well, maybe a milkshake. I might be able to get away with a milkshake."

"Okay, I'll go get that, and then I have to pick up the kids. Hopefully, they'll be ready when I get to their house."

They weren't. In fact, nobody appeared to be at home.

Roy really hated going up to the front door because his ex-wife usually saw that as an opportunity to berate him about something, even though he went out of his way to be a conscientious and loving father.

He always picked up and dropped off his kids on schedule, never missed a child support payment and spent extra money on clothes, school supplies and other things they needed. His devotion to his children was one of the things Shelby most admired about him.

Roy honked the horn a couple of times and, getting no response, he waited in his pickup in the driveway for awhile. Finally, Carrie emerged from her next-door neighbor's house and, looking surprised to see him, ran up to the driver's side window and told him she needed to go inside and change clothes.

"Don't you remember me telling you I'd be here at one o'clock to pick you guys up?" Roy asked his daughter.

"Yeah, but I didn't realize it was that late. I was over at Julie's watching a movie. I'll hurry."

"What about your brother?"

"He went to the beach a while ago with his skimboard."

Roy heaved a heavy sigh. "Go in and get ready, and I'll drive over there and see if I can find him."

Just as he was backing out of the driveway, he saw Dillon come sauntering up the street. The boy was wet, covered in sand and obviously in need of a shower. Roy wanted to bang his head on the steering wheel, but he forced himself to be calm as he waited for his son to reach the truck.

"How long is it going to take you to get ready?" Roy asked.

"Not long, but I don't really have anything to wear to a wedding."

"You don't have anything to wear? And you're just now figuring this out?"

"I told Mom the other day I wasn't sure I had anything dressy enough, and she said she'd take care of it, but she never did."

Roy heaved another heavy sigh. "Get in there and take a quick shower, and then we'll stop at the store and buy you something."

Back at their apartment, meanwhile, Shelby was wondering what in the world was taking Roy so long. Finally, she heard footsteps thundering up the stairs and went to unlock the front door.

"Where've you guys been?" she asked as they came inside, then went silent when she saw the look on Roy's face.

"I'll tell you about it later. Can you set up the ironing board so we can press these clothes for Dillon?" Roy asked, holding up a shopping bag. "I don't know if this shirt and pants are nice enough for a wedding, but it was the best I could do on short notice."

"I'm sure they'll be fine. I'll iron them," Shelby said, taking the bag. Having a chore to do at least would take her mind off her nerves for a bit.

Later, Carrie said that her mother was ticked off about something that morning and had threatened to make her and her brother stay home.

"I told her there was no way I was going to miss Dad's wedding," the girl said defiantly.

"What did she say when you told her that?" Shelby asked.

"Nothing. She just walked into her bedroom and slammed the door. A little while later she came out, grabbed her purse and her keys, and took off. I didn't ask her where she was going, and she didn't say."

Shelby and Roy exchanged a look but didn't comment. They'd made it a policy never to bad-mouth the kids' mother in front of them, even though she so often deserved it.

"Maybe I'll bring Mom home a piece of wedding cake," Carrie said with a devilish glint in her eye.

Yeah, and I hope she chokes on it, Shelby thought as she wrapped Carrie in a big hug.

***

THE WEDDING CEREMONY WAS a classy but simple affair, and it went off with just a minor hiccup. That happened when the matron of honor, Shelby's sister-in-law, made her entrance without music because the friend operating the CD player pushed the wrong button. The friend was mortified, but Shelby laughed it off and it actually relaxed her.

The reception was just what Shelby envisioned, too: a party for sixty of her closest friends and relatives, including most of the softball team. They were well-behaved much of the night, despite the free-flowing beer from kegs set up on a patio outside the cozy conference center lobby that overlooked the lake where the ceremony took place.

Many of the guests already had left by the time Shelby's teammates started doing the limbo beneath the best man's cummerbund. Shelby just laughed and shook her head when one of the women hitched up her dress high on her thighs and hurdled over the dove gray waist sash.

The bride and groom didn't leave until the last guests departed just after midnight, and that was only because the rent-a-DJ stopped playing music and announced the party was over. Shelby and Roy went to her parents' place to spend a little more time with out-of-town relatives who were leaving in the morning.

Finally, when everyone had had as much fun as they could take for one day, Shelby's father volunteered to drive Roy's kids home, and the newlyweds headed for their apartment.

It was almost two in the morning when they shrugged out of their formal clothes, and they were exhausted from the stresses of the day. So, by unspoken agreement they postponed their wedding night intimacy until eighteen hours later, after a full day of driving and dinner. Living together had removed any sense of urgency anyway.

Shelby had packed the black teddy, stockings and garter belt and slipped into the motel room's bathroom to change as Roy waited for her on the bed. She didn't feel very sexy—she was too self-conscious—but she hoped Roy would like the way she looked.

As she walked out shyly and stood before her new husband, his response was the last thing she expected: He burst out laughing.

Chapter 19

**S** he resisted, just barely, the impulse to flee back into the bathroom.

"What's so damned funny?" Shelby demanded, fisting her hands indignantly on her hips.

"I'm only laughing because of the look on your face," Roy assured her. "You just look so uncomfortable, that's all."

"I am uncomfortable. This getup isn't me. But I wanted to wear it for you before I take it home and stick it in the back of the dresser drawer. And this is the reaction I get?"

"I'm glad you brought it, pookie," he said, looking at her imploringly. "You're really sexy."

"Yeah, sure. You kind of have to say that now."

"No, Shelby, I mean it. You really are."

"Really? You think so?" she asked, her attitude softening.

"Absolutely. Now, come over here and let me have a closer look."

***

ONE OF THE FIRST destinations on their itinerary was a northeast Georgia town called Willard and the Willard House Inn, which offered Southern hospitality, a scenic setting amid the mountains and a restaurant with farm-fresh, family-style dining.

Late the afternoon they arrived, Shelby was looking out the rear sliding-glass door of their room when she saw a horse go galloping by in the pasture just beyond the traditional split-rail fence.

Then she saw another horse. And another. And then a whole herd. She grabbed her camera and flew out the door to shoot photo after photo.

"Are those the horses from the stables?" Roy asked when he joined her outside.

"They must be. This is so cool. Look at all of them grazing out here. I love this."

Shelby spent a little more time looking and taking pictures, and then she and Roy walked hand in hand to the restaurant for dinner. Shelby had been there years earlier, after her first whitewater rafting trip with a church group. She'd enjoyed it so much that she'd always wanted to come back.

Shelby and Roy were seated at a table overlooking corn and soybeans growing in the valley below, and then the all-you-can-eat oink fest began.

The waitress brought out platters and bowls brimming with fried chicken, sugar-cured ham, country fried steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, glazed carrots, cole slaw, cornbread and sliced tomatoes.

They ate until they were so full that Shelby thought they'd need a crane to hoist them from their seats.

"Can I get ya'll anything else?" the waitress asked. "More tea? Cobbler?"

"Oooooooh," Roy moaned. "No, thank you. If we eat anything else it won't be pretty because we'll explode, and then you'd have a big mess to clean up."

"We definitely don't want that, honey," the waitress said, laughing.

***

OVER THE NEXT FEW days, Roy and Shelby went horseback riding, drove to the top of Black Rock Mountain, hiked into the forest to see waterfalls, gazed down into the one thousand-foot-deep chasm of Tallulah Gorge and braved the rapids of the Chattooga River in the steep stretch winding along the Georgia-South Carolina border.

Shelby was the only female in their raft and sat in the back beside the guide, who told them how Burt Reynolds's 1972 thriller Deliverance was filmed on that section of river and even pointed out where the infamous "squeal like a pig" rape scene was shot.

Just what I wanted to know, Shelby thought.

Roy was sitting in front of Shelby and she was glad of it, because she landed in his lap at least four times when she was thrown forward by the force of the churning water. Like the other passengers, her hands were occupied with her paddle, and the only way to hold on was to wedge her feet under the inflated tube on which Roy sat.

The problem was, the guide used most of the foot room to gain leverage while steering the raft over the dangerous boulders and rapids.

In the Chattooga's challenging Section IV, the river drops more than seventy-five feet through the Five Falls: Entrance, Corkscrew, Crack-in-the-Rock, Jawbone and Sockem Dog. Shelby was feeling pretty bruised by the time they reached the final whitewater challenge.

As they made their run through Sockem Dog, she got her vindication. It unfurled almost in slow motion as the raft pitched forward and the other three male passengers flew off their seats and latched onto each other, and then onto Roy in a futile attempt to stay inside the raft.

Roy held on gamely until he, too, was wrenched from his seat and went hurtling into the water like a stone from a slingshot.

"Keep your feet up! Keep your feet up!" Shelby yelled, echoing the safety instructions meant to prevent rafters from getting their feet wedged between boulders, their bodies buffeted and their heads submerged beneath the raging, swirling water.

"I am! I am!" Roy hollered back as the current took him and the others a short distance downriver.

When the raft finally cleared Sockem Dog with only the guide and Shelby still inside, she thrust up one fist in triumph and let loose with a resounding "wooo hoooo!"

***

THE REST OF THE honeymoon was far less dramatic but no less enjoyable.

They stopped in Gatlinburg, Tenn., where they played miniature golf on a mountainside and rode the sky lift eighteen hundred feet to the top of Crockett Mountain.

They visited St. Louis, where they watched paddleboats on the Mississippi River and took the one-of-a-kind tram inside the Gateway Arch, stretching six hundred and thirty feet into the sky.

They stayed for a few days with Roy's parents a couple hours south of Chicago and took in a Cubs game at Wrigley Field.

After the long drive back to Clearwater, Shelby was more than happy to be home. She'd missed her mischievous little lovebird, Peeper, who was being fed and watered by Allie.

That wasn't all that Allie had been up to in her friend's absence.

Chapter 20

**A** llie and several teammates welcomed the newlyweds home with a few time-honored pranks, such as short-sheeting the bed and covering the toilet bowl with plastic wrap.

When she called Allie to thank her for pet sitting, Shelby decided to act like nothing was amiss.

"So, did you guys have a good trip?" Allie asked innocently.

"We sure did. We had a pretty wild rafting adventure. I can't wait to show you the pictures. And I loved St. Louis, although we didn't get to see the Cardinals—that's the baseball team Roy grew up rooting for—because the rival Cubs were in town and the only tickets available were standing room only."

"Maybe you can go back again someday."

"Maybe. I wouldn't mind spending more time exploring the city. We were there for only part of a day. Same with Chicago. Wrigley Field is a lot prettier in person than it looks on TV."

"So, everything else went okay?" Allie asked.

"Yes, it was a great trip. The only downside was that a couple days into the honeymoon we were really getting on each other's nerves and arguing about stupid stuff. And the thought went through my mind, briefly anyway, that maybe I'd made a big mistake getting married if this was the way it was going to be."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, and then I immediately felt bad for thinking that because who knows, Roy probably was thinking the same thing about me, you know?

"And then I remembered what the counselor said in our premarital session: that after the stress of the wedding and traveling for the honeymoon, it's not unusual for couples to be cranky with each other for a few days or a week or whatever."

"How do you feel now?"

"Great," Shelby said with a smile in her voice. "Within a couple days we were back to normal. We had several days to just do nothing at Roy's parents' house while they were at work, so I think that really helped us relax."

"Well, good. So...everything was okay with the apartment when you got back?" Allie asked, not being very subtle.

"Sure, why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. Just making sure everything was okay when you got home."

"Yep, everything was great. Peeper was glad to have us home so she didn't have to be locked in her cage all the time."

"Geez o' Pete, that bird has a piercing scream. I leaned over to refill her food bowl and she let loose, and my ears were ringing for half an hour."

"I know. For such a little bird she can make a heck of a lot of noise."

"So...everything was okay then?"

"How many times are you going to ask me that? Why wouldn't everything be okay? You have a wild party over here while we were gone or something?"

"Puhleeeze. Would I do that?"

"Of course not. I absolutely trust you, which is why I asked you to look after Peep Peep. I knew you'd take good care of her and keep an eye on the apartment and make sure nothing happened while we were gone.

"Get this: I've heard some couples return from their honeymoon and can't even use the bathroom or sleep in their bed because someone has played practical jokes that weren't the least bit funny. But I know you'd never do anything like that."

Allie heaved a deep sigh. "Shelby, I have a confession to make."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, uh, a couple of the girls from the team and I pulled a few pranks at your apartment. We didn't hurt anything, I promise. I'll come over and fix everything we did if you want me to."

"It really pains me to say this, Allie Charles, but you are...so...busted!"

"What?

"Busted!"

Allie didn't know whether to be irritated or relieved, so she just said, "Ha ha, the joke's on me, I guess."

"Oh, yeah, baby. Busted!"

***

AS ROY AND SHELBY settled into married life, Allie assumed another responsibility that cut into her precious free time. Her elderly great-aunt had suffered a stroke, and Allie's great-uncle wasn't in any condition to play caretaker.

Allie helped arrange for home health care workers and began researching nursing homes and other options. Although she lived a couple hours away from the older couple, she was their closest relative by proximity; everyone else was up north.

The great-aunt was a sweetheart, but her husband was a hard-to-please, cantankerous pain in the ass. He found fault with every suggestion Allie made and insisted he and his wife could take care of themselves just fine, thank you very much.

Yet he'd call Allie and say he needed something at the store and expect her to hop in her car and head right over. He seemed most concerned about making sure he never ran out of beer.

"Uncle Billy, I can't drive over there right now," she told him one evening. "It's eight o'clock and I still have to bathe Andrew and get him ready for bed."

"What the hell, that boy can't bathe himself? How the hell old is he anyway?"

"He's an adult, but you know he can't take care of himself. That's why his parents hired me, remember?"

"Well, when do you think you can get over here? Damn it all to hell, I'm out of Pabst Blue Ribbon!"

"You know you're not supposed to be drinking, Uncle Billy."

"That's just some blah, blah, blah bullshit those doctors came up with to piss me off. I don't listen to their crap. And you shouldn't, either."

"Look, Uncle Billy, I can only do so much. I hardly have much free time because I'm expected to be available for Andrew whenever he needs me."

"Ain't his damn fool father a doctor?"

"Yes, but he's busy with his practice."

"Kid's got a mother, don't he?"

"She's here ,but she can't lift him and give him his shots and all that. That's my job. I can't just take off and leave whenever I want to. You and I have had this conversation before, a number of times."

"Well damn, girl, don't you get no days off?"

"Not really. Look, I can probably come see you at the end of the week."

"End of the week? Son of a...that ain't soon enough!"

"I'm sorry, Uncle Billy, but that's the best I can do right now."

"Well, we'll just see what your momma has to say about that when I call and tell her how you've been neglecting me and your poor old Aunt Agnes."

"Tell Momma hi for me."

"Don't be a damn wiseass, Allie Jo."

"I must take after you, Uncle Billy. Now, go give Aunt Agnes a kiss for me and tell her I'll see her on Friday."

***

A FEW MONTHS LATER, Allie had been run ragged by her great-aunt and great-uncle, and she hadn't had much of a break from her day, and night, job of caring for Andrew. Plus, it was between softball seasons and she was feeling overdue for some fun.

So when Shelby called and said she and Roy were planning a canoe trip, Allie didn't hesitate to say she'd love to go.

Shelby, Roy, his two kids, Allie and six softball teammates and their guys piled into a caravan of cars on a Saturday morning and drove north for ninety minutes up the interstate to the canoe outpost in Nobleton, nestled on the Withlacoochee River northeast of Brooksville.

They parked in a dirt lot next to what looked like a log cabin and went inside to check in and pay for their rentals. Then they waited while the outpost proprietors loaded canoes, paddles and other gear onto the roof of a rusty old bus that would take them to the drop-off point at Silver Lake.

After a bouncy, herky-jerky, nausea-inducing ride along unpaved, rock-strewn back roads, they arrived at the park to find sheriff's deputies, an ambulance crew and a couple of park rangers standing solemnly near the boat ramp and dock.

"This doesn't look good," Allie said.

The driver told them to stay in the bus while he found out what was going on. A few minutes later, he came back and said they wouldn't be starting their float trip anytime soon at the usual spot.

A paddler in an earlier group, a man in his fifties, had suffered a fatal heart attack several miles downriver, and his body was being ferried back in a motorboat. Authorities also were awaiting the arrival of his wife, who wasn't with him on the water and who apparently didn't yet know her husband was dead.

Shelby's group and others on the bus were told to collect their belongings and wait outside the vehicle while outpost employees scouted another place to launch the canoes.

As the somber paddlers stood talking quietly, a deputy pulled up in a marked car and a worry-stricken woman got out and started to hurry down to the dock. She was stopped halfway there by other deputies, paramedics and park rangers, who formed a protective circle around her and apparently broke the awful news.

The distraught woman began wailing and shouting "no, no, no!" as her knees buckled and the paramedics half carried her to their rig.

Dillon's and Carrie's eyes got huge, and Roy and Shelby quickly hustled them toward a picnic shelter as the other paddlers stood in a stunned, uncomfortable silence.

Finally, the group was given the go-ahead to hike across the park and start the trip around the bend from the dock. Shelby, Roy and Carrie loaded food and drinks into their canoe while Allie and Dillon clambered into a second canoe, and the rest of their party similarly paired up, settled in and pushed off.

As they paddled around the bend and drew closer to the dock, they could see sneaker-clad feet sticking out from a tarp that covered much of the motorboat's deck.

"Dillon, you guys are headed right for that dock. Steer the canoe away from the bank and out into the middle of the river," Roy shouted to his son.

"I'm trying, Dad," Dillon called back, "but it's not turning."

"Hold your paddle like this," Roy hollered, holding up his to demonstrate. "And hurry up. You guys are getting too close."

Allie, who'd been paddling with all her might, started shouting instructions, too, but hers consisted mostly of, "Turn us, turn us, turn us right now!"

"Dillon, steer! Steer!" Roy yelled frantically now as Shelby covered her mouth and Carrie stared in disbelief.

The canoe was closing to within 20 yards of the docked motorboat when Allie's face drained of all color and she started trying to back-paddle.

"Oh my God!" she screamed as she flailed away, slinging water everywhere. "We're gonna hit the dead guy!"

Chapter 21

**S** helby got a horrible mental image of the canoe crashing into the motorboat and the poor man's body being catapulted into the water.

There was nothing she could do but gawk and say a quick prayer.

"We're gonna hit the dead guy!" Allie shrieked again, her voice ringing loudly and clearly across the quiet expanse of river.

Mercifully, the canoe abruptly veered away from the dock toward the middle of the Withlacoochee.

"Thank you, God," Shelby said under her breath as Carrie exclaimed, "Dude, that was way too close!"

"You said you knew how to steer!" Roy barked at Dillon as the rogue canoe joined the rest of the group.

"I do, but she was paddling too hard," the teenager said, narrowing his eyes at Allie.

"Hey, you're the one sitting in the back of the boat," Allie fired back.

"Okay, you two," Roy cut in. "Let's just get the hell away from here before anything else happens."

A couple of miles into the thirteen-mile trek back to the outpost, they began to relax and enjoy the natural beauty of their surroundings, from the abundant cypress, pine and live oak trees that lined the bank to the bass, catfish and turtles that swam in its tea-colored waters.

Typical of so-called blackwater rivers that flow from marshes or swamps, tannic acid from decaying vegetation turns the water that distinctive shade of brown.

The Withlacoochee originates in Central Florida's Green Swamp and flows one hundred forty-one miles west and north until it eventually empties into the Gulf of Mexico near Yankeetown.

During times of drought, parts of the river can be almost impassable by boat. But on this day, the water level was high enough that the paddlers very often couldn't see more than a couple feet below the surface.

As they glided past a huge tree limb hanging out over the water, Roy spotted a brown snake coiled among the branches. It never moved, not even to scent the air with its forked tongue as he steered his canoe toward it.

"What are you doing?" Shelby asked. "Don't get me close to that thing!"

"That's not a real snake, or if it is it's dead. Here, I'll show you," Roy said, positioning the canoe so he could reach the tree limb with his paddle.

As he slipped the blade beneath the reptile and began to lift it, the very much alive serpent suddenly shot through the air and over the canoe pulling up behind Roy and Shelby.

Their friend Kelly, who was in the front of that boat, shrieked and almost fell out trying to twist and duck out of the way.

"What the hell did you do that for?" she demanded. "The frickin' thing just missed my head!"

"Sorry," Roy said, but he couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled out of his throat. "I didn't think it was alive."

"That was so cool!" Dillon enthused. "Way to go, Dad!"

"Yeah, way to go, Dad," Carrie said sarcastically.

"If you see any more snakes, you'd better not get anywhere near them," Shelby scolded. "You understand?"

"That goes for alligators, too!" Allie added.

"At least it wasn't spiders. I hate spiders," said Bob, who was dating Janet, the third baseman.

The Michigan transplant was a canoeing virgin and a gullible new Floridian, which his companions used as an excuse to tease him unmercifully.

"Better stay out in the middle of the river then, Bob. Those trees along the bank are filled with spiders," said Bill, the second baseman's boyfriend. "Big, hairy ones."

Bob shuddered and paddled harder.

The next couple of miles passed without incident until the river narrowed, Janet and Bob got distracted by the beer in their cooler and went crashing into a thicket at the water's edge.

Suddenly, Bob shot up from his seat, started stomping his feet and shouting, "Spiders! Spiders! Spiders!"

"Sit down, Bob! You're going to capsize!" numerous voices ordered.

But Bob was in the throes of a full-blown, spider-stomping frenzy.

The canoe quickly filled with water and sank a foot below the surface before it hit bottom. As Bob thrashed about, waving his arms wildly, Janet giggled, grabbed the cooler and started floating with the current, paddles and other gear trailing in her wake as she waved goodbye.

"Somebody paddle ahead and get Janet and her stuff," Roy said. "I'm gonna need some help getting their canoe up out of the water and then dumping it out."

"Hey Bob," someone else shouted. "Don't splash around so much or you'll attract alligators."

"Water moccasins, too," Bill called out.

"Ieeeeeeee," Bob bellowed.

"Bob, you're gonna be okay," Shelby said in a calming voice. "Climb up on the bank, take a couple of deep breaths and we'll be over there to help you in a minute."

It took a while to get Bob and Janet's canoe riverworthy again, but finally the paddlers were back on track. Soon, they saw a sign for a picnic area and decided to stop for lunch and a well-earned rest.

After about an hour, dark clouds began drifting in, and they packed up their trash and got under way again.

Overpowered by Allie's powerful paddle strokes, Dillon was still having problems steering, and their canoe was zigzagging all over the Withlacoochee. He didn't seem to mind too much, but she was getting tired and frustrated.

As they lurched toward the right bank, Dillon rested his paddle across his lap, reached up and grabbed a tree branch while Allie kept paddling. And paddling. And paddling. But their canoe wasn't going anywhere.

Dillon turned to Shelby and Roy in the canoe behind him and put his index finger to his lips in the universal shushing gesture.

"Hey, we're not moving! What the—" Allie said, looking over her shoulder to see Dillon, with a big smile on his face, impeding their progress.

"I'm gonna whack you with this paddle!" she threatened.

"Roy, you'd better do something before she knocks him into next week," Shelby told her husband.

"Dillon, let go of that tree and paddle to a place where you can get out of the canoe. You and Shelby are going to switch," Roy instructed.

"Good!" Allie said, glaring at the boy.

"You won't be saying that once you see how bad I suck at steering," Shelby warned her friend.

"C'mon, evil stepmommy. You can do it," Carrie said, using the teasing nickname she'd affectionately pinned on Shelby after the wedding.

Once the swap was made without too much fuss, they continued on until the river widened and they passed beneath an interstate bridge that signaled they were within a few miles of the outpost.

Bill and his girlfriend, Carla, had been playing bumper boats for the past mile or so, and Shelby had managed to stay out of their way.

Now, in the deepest, blackest part of the river, she heard the dreaded words "ramming speed!" from over her left shoulder and braced herself for impact.

Chapter 22

**T** he other canoe T-boned Shelby and Allie's boat and it began to rock. Muttering a curse, Allie sprang to her feet in a futile and ill-advised attempt to stabilize the craft.

"Sit down! You're gonna tip us—"

Shelby didn't have a chance to say anything else as the canoe tilted violently and she was flung into the water, followed a heartbeat later by Allie.

"My camera! Crap, my camera!" Allie screamed as she sputtered and splashed.

"It's gone now," Shelby said unnecessarily. "You okay?"

"Yeah, but I don't like being in water where I can't see the bottom."

"Me neither," Shelby said and began swimming toward the bank.

"Hang on, guys, I'm coming to help you," Roy said as he and Dillon paddled toward the women in the water. Roy held out his paddle, Shelby grabbed it and he pulled her over to his canoe. Dillon did the same for Allie. Both women hung on to the lip of the boat and were towed to the bank.

"We didn't mean to knock you guys in the river," Bill said, although he and Carla didn't apologize, Shelby noticed.

"No more ramming!" she ordered. "And you owe Allie a camera."

"That's right. I just bought that damn thing. This was the first time I'd even used it," Allie said.

"Uh, huh. We'll talk about it later," Bill said. "C'mon, Carla, let's beat these people back to the outpost."

"You go right on ahead. We'll catch you later," Roy said, then added under his breath, "ass wipes."

Shelby and Allie wrung the water out of their clothes as best they could, climbed back into their canoe when it was brought over to the bank and set a slow but steady pace for the rest of the trip.

When they were less than a mile from the outpost, judging by a sign nailed to one of the live oak trees lining the riverbank, the ominous rumble of thunder filled the air.

"Oh, puleeeze," Allie said in disgust. "That's all we need."

"That's for sure," Shelby said. "The last time we came here canoeing I thought we were going to get killed by lightning. The storm blew up all of a sudden, and you could hear the lightning sizzle as it hit the water just ahead of us."

"I must've missed that trip," Allie said. "Lucky me."

"You couldn't go because Andrew was really sick, remember? We had the kids with us and all I could think was, 'Please, God, don't let anybody get hurt.' One bolt hit so near the canoe Dillon was in that he yelped, 'Damn, that was hot!'

"I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life. I mean, here we were, out in the middle of nowhere, on the water in metal canoes with lightning crashing all around, and then it started raining like we were in the middle of a tropical storm."

"And you guys kept paddling?"

"Just until we got around the next bend in the river. Then we saw a few houses and, despite the 'No Trespassing' signs, we decided to risk it. One of the houses had like a screened-in picnic pavilion near the water. The door was locked, but we crowded under the eaves and felt at least a little protected.

"The whole time I was waiting for somebody to come out of the house with a shotgun, and all I could hear in my head was Dueling Banjos, the song from Deliverance. But we never saw a soul, thank goodness."

"Maybe the good Lord is trying to tell us something," Allie said.

"Like what?"

"Like we ought to give up canoeing."

"Nah. Think of the stories we'll be able to tell when we're all wrinkled and sitting in our rocking chairs on the front porch of the nursing home."

"Yeah, we can be roommates," Allie said. "We can be crabby old ladies together."

"I can see it now. We'll ram each other with our walkers and we'll say things like, 'Just throw me out in the alley and let the dogs eat me.' "

"Oh, boy. That sounds like fun. Speaking of which, I've had entirely too much of it for one day. I'll be glad when we get back to the outpost. This sunburn hurts, and I'm exhausted."

"You should be. You've probably paddled more miles than anybody today."

"Thanks to you and Dillon. Neither one of you can steer a canoe in a straight line to save your life."

"Well, you can't say you didn't get the deluxe scenic tour."

Just then, thunder rolled through the sky again and Shelby muttered, "Please, just let it hold off until we get back."

It did. As they pulled up to the dock behind the outpost and unloaded their gear, Shelby's still-sopped sneakers squished and squeaked with every step. They carried their stuff to their cars, and somebody suggested stopping somewhere for dinner before heading back to Clearwater.

"I'm so hungry I could eat the ass out of a ragdoll," announced Carla, of the infamous "ramming speed" duo.

Naturally, Dillon thought that was hilarious, as he did anything that was even remotely rude, crude and socially unacceptable.

Roy rolled his eyes. Wonderful, he thought. I can just see him saying that in front of his mother, and then I'll never hear the end of it.

"Where'd you get that expression?" somebody asked Carla.

"A lady I worked with said it all the time," she replied. "That and, 'This is about as useless as tits on a suitcase.' "

Dillon laughed gleefully while his father heaved a heavy sigh.

Chapter 23

**T** he National Cancer Institute estimates that more than sixty-eight thousand Americans are diagnosed each year with melanoma, and Allie Jo Charles unfortunately became one of them.

While melanoma can affect any part of the skin, women most often get it between their shoulders and hips or on their lower legs.

For Allie, it showed up as a black bump on the edge of an existing mole on the back of her left leg. A biopsy confirmed it was skin cancer.

Blood and imaging tests were conducted, and lymph nodes near the tumor were checked to see whether the disease had spread. Abnormal cells were detected in at least one of her lymph nodes, which meant the cancer was at a stage three, or the second most serious stage.

She called her family up north and her closest friends after Allie's doctor determined surgery was necessary to remove not only the malignant mole and some surrounding tissue, but also lymph nodes in her left groin.

Just saying and hearing the word "cancer" scared the hell out of people, and Allie tried to be realistic but upbeat.

"I don't mind telling you that I'm not looking forward to this," she told Shelby about a week before going under the scalpel.

"Of course you're not," Shelby said. "I'm so sorry this is happening."

"I'm gonna have a really ugly scar, too. But that's not the worst thing that could happen, so I guess I should be thankful that it hasn't spread beyond my leg."

"Thank God for that. When are you having this done?"

"A week from tomorrow."

"Do you have someone to drive you there and take you home?"

"Yes, the doctor and his wife are going to take care of me."

"Good. Anything I can do to help?"

"I can't think of anything offhand, but prayers wouldn't hurt."

"You've got it. Absolutely."

***

ALLIE CAME THROUGH THE surgery just fine and, despite the pain and the nasty scar, was well on the road to recovery. She felt like she'd dodged a giant bullet by not having to have chemotherapy or radiation treatments.

Except for taking extra precautions against the sun, there were no limitations on her life once the bandages came off.

Her days fell back into a more predictable rhythm once she'd healed, and Allie began to think of the cancer as just a pothole in the road of her life.

And then a virtual sinkhole opened up and swallowed her in despair.

Andrew, the doctor's son she took care of, hadn't been feeling well for weeks, and nobody wanted to think the worst could happen. But the sad fact was that his body was worn out, and he wasn't going to make it out of the hospital this time.

Allie and his family tried to put on a happy face around him, but it was evident in Andrew's subdued demeanor that even he knew his life was ending.

He barely managed a smile when Allie teased him about all the attention he was getting from the nurses who dropped by his room to say hello, even if they were assigned to other floors. Because his father had privileges at the hospital, and because of his medical history, Andrew was a familiar and popular figure there.

"Now Andrew," Allie said with false sternness as a trio of particularly pretty nurses crowded around his bed, "don't you be getting any ideas. I'd better not see you trying to pinch any of these girls, you hear me? You'd better behave yourself."

"That's right, Andrew, you keep your hands to yourself, you little devil," one of the nurses said gamely.

"You've got to start feeling better so we can have our lunch date in the cafeteria," another of the nurses told him. "I'm counting on it."

"Hey, he has to keep his date with me first," the third nurse scolded. "Get in line."

When they'd finally cleared out of Andrew's room, Allie pulled up a chair right next to his bed, took his hand and began talking to him quietly.

"You don't have to be afraid, Andrew. I'm right here with you, and I'm not going anywhere."

He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

Hours later, as Allie dozed in a chair beside the bed, she heard Andrew gasp for air. She bolted out of the chair, grabbed an oxygen mask and held it over his face. Then she pressed the button to summon help.

Chapter 24

**W** hen medical staff came rushing in, Allie stepped aside and choked back tears. A few seconds later, family members came pouring into the room.

"Everybody just calm down and stay back," Andrew's father said as he hurried to his son's bedside. He took Andrew's vital signs, closed his wet eyes for a moment to regain his composure and then turned to the anxious onlookers.

"It won't be long now."

Andrew's mother started to sob, and his sister hugged her fiercely before leading her out into the hall. The doctor made a few notations on his son's chart, kissed his forehead, then followed his wife and daughter out of the room. Allie joined them a moment later.

"He's not going to be comfortable if we're all crowded around his bed staring at him," Andrew's father said without mincing words. "So, let's take shifts sitting with him."

Thus began the longest night of Allie's life so far.

When it was her turn to keep vigil, she perched on the side of the bed, took one of Andrew's pallid hands, gently unclenched his fingers and squeezed. His eyes fluttered but didn't open.

"Andrew, I know you can hear me," Allie began, trying to excise the grief from her voice. "And I want to tell you that it's okay, you can go to heaven when you're ready. You don't have to be afraid. It's not going to hurt. All your pain will be over soon.

"Once you get to heaven, you won't need to have any more shots, and you'll be able to eat anything you want without putting it in the blender. You'll walk and run and do all the other things you haven't been able to do. And you'll see your other sister and your brother there, too.

"So it's okay, you can rest now," Allie said as the tears began to flow freely. "I love you, and I'll see you again someday.

"And I'll never forget you."

Andrew's labored breathing was his only reply.

***

THE NEXT MORNING, AFTER Andrew had passed quietly in the night, Allie called Shelby's cell phone.

"Andrew's gone," Allie said simply.

"Oh, God. When?"

"About four o'clock this morning."

"I'm so sorry," Shelby managed to say before her voice broke completely.

"I'll call you in a day or so when we know more about the arrangements," Allie said, wanting to end the call before she fell apart.

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Shelby ended the connection and turned to Roy, sitting beside her in the driver's seat of their pickup. She didn't have to say anything else; he could tell from her tears what had happened.

They were on their way to the marina in Ozona where they kept their boat. It was their vacation, and they'd planned to head south across the mouth of Tampa Bay to a marina in Palmetto a couple of hours away.

"What do you want to do, Shelby? Should we go back home?" Roy asked quietly as he took his wife's hand.

"I don't know," she said. "I want to be here when they have the viewing or funeral or whatever they're having for Andrew."

"Of course," Roy said.

"But it doesn't sound like it's going to be for at least a few days. They haven't finalized the arrangements yet. Allie's going to call me when she knows more."

"You want to go to Palmetto in the meantime? We don't have to. It's your call."

"I don't know. Give me a minute to think," Shelby said, wiping her eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. She sat in silence for a short while before turning again to Roy.

"I know you've been looking forward to this vacation," she began before her husband cut her off.

"Don't worry about that. That doesn't matter."

"Well, there isn't much we can do until they make the arrangements. I guess we can go down there and come back for the wake."

"We can do that. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm not going to feel any better sitting around the house."

A few days later, Shelby and Roy walked into the funeral home chapel for Andrew's viewing. The service and burial was planned in the Pennsylvania city where he was born, and Allie was flying out with his family the next morning.

Shelby saw her friend standing near the front of the chapel and walked quickly to her. Her composure crumbled as soon as Shelby hugged her, and Allie began sobbing on her shoulder.

Knowing no words could lessen the grief, Shelby held on tight and let Allie cry.

Chapter 25

**S** helby figured she'd see a lot more of Allie now that she no longer was taking care of Andrew. At a reception at the family's home after the viewing, his sister even admonished Shelby, unnecessarily, not to forget her friend.

"She's going to need you," the sister had said. "Call her and get her out of the house."

"I plan to," Shelby had replied. "It's not that I didn't try before."

That situation didn't change much after Andrew's death.

For a while, Allie cloistered herself in a home steeped in memories and mired in grief. She couldn't summon the energy required to shower, get dressed, go out and paste on a pleasant expression when her heart had been so thoroughly broken.

She lay on her bed and watched TV without much interest, going through the motions because there was nothing else she could do.

Allie knew that her friends expected her to move out of the doctor's house and get her own apartment, but the truth was she didn't want to be alone. All of her friends were paired off, so there weren't any single women she knew that she could room with, and there certainly weren't any men available, either.

Plus, Andrew's family had become her family, and she'd been assured she'd have a place with them for as long as she wanted to stay. She figured the doctor and his wife would need someone to look after them as they got older.

Weeks after Andrew died, Allie was headed back from the grocery store when she passed a restaurant a couple miles from the house and noticed a "Now Hiring" sign on the roadside message board. She pulled in the parking lot, went inside and asked for an application.

Allie had been the head waitress for six years at a diner in her Pennsylvania hometown and could wait tables in her sleep. After turning in the completed form, she sat watching the phone for a few days before it finally rang.

She went in for an interview and was offered a job working the dinner rush, five evenings a week, including weekends. She couldn't wait to tell her friends.

"Hey, you and Roy need to come in one night and have dinner at Smith's Family Restaurant," Allie told Shelby in a phone call.

"Why, do you eat there?"

"I do now, when I get my break."

"What?"

"I got a job there as a waitress. I start Friday."

"Congratulations. What made you decide to do that?"

"I was head waitress for six years at a diner in Armwood City, so I have plenty of experience."

"I know, but that can be a pretty brutal job, can't it? Being on your feet all those hours and carrying those heavy trays?"

"If I could lift Andrew all those years, I can carry trays."

"Yes, but wasn't all that lifting killing your back?"

"Well, sure, but I can handle it. I can't sit around the house any longer, Shelby. It's making me crazy. And I don't ever want to be a caretaker again, especially a live-in one.

"Besides, the restaurant is about five minutes from the house, the food is good, the people seem nice and there's a chance I can move up into management before too long.

"Plus, aren't you the one always telling me I need to get out and meet more people? This is the perfect job for that."

"Then I'm very happy for you, Allie. Roy and I'll come in one night soon and see you."

"Make sure you tell the hostess you want to sit in my section."

"We will."

"And you guys had better leave me a decent tip," Allie teased.

"Don't worry, I think we can scrounge up a few pennies."

"Wiseass," Allie said, "and I mean that in the nicest possible way."

***

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG for Allie to be totally in her element. She quickly became popular with the restaurant's regulars, who could sit for hours drinking coffee and sparring with her verbally.

As always, Allie acted as though she'd never met a stranger.

She was well-liked among her co-workers, too, and she rode herd on the younger ones who weren't as willing to hustle because they didn't have children to feed or a mortgage to pay. When one of the assistant managers left for another job, Allie was offered the position and accepted eagerly.

With its discounted prices for men and women in uniform, the restaurant was a magnet for firefighters and law enforcement officers assigned to the area. Allie became acquainted with a lot of them while working the night shift and personally saw to it that their meals were prepared correctly and served quickly. They never knew when they'd get a call that interrupted their dinner, so they didn't want to waste time waiting for their food.

Still, they always made time to chat with Allie when she sauntered through the private dining room that the restaurant allowed them to use. She hadn't had many chances to banter and flirt in years, and she made the most of her opportunities now.

"Hey, Allie, what's on special today?" asked an officer with chiseled cheekbones and a heavily muscled physique.

"You mean besides me?" she replied saucily. "Of course, I'm not just special today, I'm special every day."

The cop winked and elbowed the firefighter sitting next to him.

"Hear that, Dan? Allie's really cooking today."

"Yeah, she's a regular hot tamale," the firefighter said with a big smile. "You're one spicy mama, Allie."

"And don't you forget it. Now boys, what'll it be tonight?" she asked, channeling Mae West.

"What can we get quickly? We don't have a lot of time," another officer asked.

"You saying you want a quickie, Bobby?" Allie quipped.

"Only if you're in the mood," he replied.

"I'm ready for anything, Bobby, but I don't get off until midnight."

"I'll have to take a rain check. In the meantime, how about some of that meatloaf."

"I could say something right now about meatloaf," Allie said with a playful leer, "but not at the dinner table."

And so it went nearly every night she worked. Allie never tired of their innuendo-filled exchanges, and apparently neither did her customers in uniform.

While she knew it was all harmless fun, she wished that just once one of those men would look at her with real lust in their eyes and consider asking her out.

It might never happen, but a girl could dream, couldn't she?

Chapter 26

**O** n a rare Saturday off from the restaurant, Allie accepted an invitation to go golfing with Shelby and two other softball teammates, Lindy and Carla.

None of the women were what anyone would consider good golfers; they were far too inconsistent for that. But they enjoyed the idea of being golfers and riding around in the carts.

And every once in a while, one of them would sink a par putt or even birdie a hole, which was always cause for great celebration and bragging rights.

Lindy was capable of booming drives off the tee, but much of the time she had no idea where the ball was going. Shouted warnings of "fore!" rang out often when she was on the links. Once, she even hit the church building that lined one of the course's boundaries.

Shelby's biggest failing was that she looked more natural with a softball bat in her hands than with a golf club. A good fairway shot was usually followed by a chip that sailed way over the green and landed in the weeds or in a sand trap.

Allie was convinced she needed to swing as hard as she did to hit a softball, and she became known as the queen of the divots and shanks.

And Carla's biggest flaw was the creative way she filled out her scorecard.

"Watch out for Carla," Shelby whispered to the other women. "She cheats."

"I most certainly do not," Carla retorted, trying her best to look aggrieved.

"You most certainly do, too," Shelby argued.

"Okay, ladies, let's get started or we'll be here all day, and it's already damned hot," Lindy chided.

Grumbling, Shelby flopped into a cart beside Allie while Lindy and Carla piled into the other cart they'd rented at the executive course, which mercifully meant shorter holes than a standard-size course. Then they set off for the first hole.

"This is hateful," Allie said, surveying the small pond that sat between the tee and the fairway. "A freaking water hazard right off the bat!"

"Good, you can go first," Carla said impishly.

"Great. I'm gonna get a ten on the first flippin' hole. You watch," Shelby said, shaking her head.

"Such positive thinking," Lindy observed.

"That's right. I'm positive my ball is gonna land in the water," Shelby said.

"Okay, girls, let me show you how it's done," Allie said as she placed her ball atop the plastic tee that she'd already stuck in the ground. She settled into her stance, stared at the ball for a few seconds as if willing it to take flight and then swung her club as if she were swatting a fly the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.

She missed the ball completely, and the breeze from the swing sent the ball dribbling off the tee.

"Fore!" Lindy yelled with a smirk.

"Shut up," Allie said. "That was just a warm-up swing."

"Maybe we should let these guys play through," Shelby said, looking behind her at the already impatient foursome rolling their eyes and snickering loudly.

"Good idea. We can stare at their butts while they tee off," Carla said, motioning for the young men to go on ahead.

When it finally was her turn again, Allie swatted an arcing shot that left the tee with a satisfying whack and sailed through the air to land just short of the green.

"Great shot, Allie!" Lindy and Shelby cheered in unison.

"Lucky shot," Carla mumbled.

"Okay, Annika Sorenstam, let's see what you've got," Shelby said with a challenging look at Carla.

"Who?" Lindy and Allie asked.

"Annika Sorenstam, the Hall of Fame golfer? Eighty-nine career wins, including ten majors? Never mind," Shelby said at her friends' blank look. "Carla, it's your turn."

"I know who Annika is," Carla sniffed, then stepped up to the tee and promptly sent her ball with a plunk and a plop straight into the water.

"Dammit, I'm taking my mulligan," she said, turning to glare at the others. "Actually, I shouldn't have to count that as my do-over shot. Allie was over there making noise that distracted me."

"Oh, puhleeeze," Allie said. "Just take a drop on the other side of the pond so we can get on with it."

Shelby and Lindy teed off next, and both cleared the water hazard and landed in the fairway. Shelby's ball came to rest well short of the green, but she didn't care. She was just thrilled not to have lost a stroke back at the pond.

She finished with a five on the par-three hole, behind fours for Allie and Lindy, while Carla finally found the cup with a six, although she scribbled a five on her scorecard.

By the time they'd finished eighteen holes, Allie had lost two balls in the water, Carla had subtracted at least six more strokes from her tally, Lindy had hit the side of a golf cart and a storage shed, but thankfully no golfers, and Shelby had chased an especially errant ball a block down the road bordering the twelfth hole.

As the others gathered their clubs and headed for the locker room, Shelby opted to head back to a hole on the front nine where dozens of balls were scattered over a dried-up water hazard.

She left her clubs on the edge of the dirt and took about six steps toward a handful of balls when she suddenly sank up to her thighs in thick, dark mud that seemed able to suck the golf shoes right off her feet.

Shelby tried lifting one leg and then the other, but she was stuck.

Immediately, her mind flashed back to a news story she'd seen the day before on a local TV station about a horse trapped in a mud pit that had to be pulled out by six men with a rope and a tractor.

Oh my God, she thought, I'm going to be on the news being yanked out of the mud just like that hapless horse! How humiliating!

Complicating her situation was the fact that this part of the golf course was deserted because it was late in the day and nobody else was likely to be starting a round. So, the chances of somebody coming along anytime soon weren't good.

Her friends eventually would come looking for her, but who knew how long she'd have to stand here waiting, up to her panties in the sticky mud?

She summoned what remained of her energy, strained mightily and managed, somehow, to pull her right leg free and take a step toward solid ground. Before she marshaled her strength to take another step and then another, she grabbed several balls within easy reach and then slowly but steadily made her way back through the muck.

When her feet finally hit dirt that didn't sink under her weight, she heaved a great sigh, went down on one knee and rested for a few minutes. She looked back over the waterless hazard and saw the indisputable evidence of her miscalculation.

Then she stood and cringed when she saw the mud caked thickly on her legs, shorts, socks and once-pristine shoes—this was the first time she'd worn them and maybe the last. She looked at the three balls in her filthy hand and heaved another sigh.

Shelby clomped back to the clubhouse, lugging her clubs over her shoulder, walked into the locker room, leaving clumps of drying mud in her wake, and promptly dropped the balls she'd found and spilled the contents of her golf bag all over the floor.

As clubs went every which way and balls rolled across the tile, her friends stared at her with their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open.

"What in the holy hell happened to you?" Carla asked.

"If you'd wanted a mud treatment, we could've gone to a spa today," Lindy quipped.

For once, Allie was speechless, and then she started laughing so hard that all she could do was double over and clutch her stomach.

Chapter 27

**A** llie had hoped never again to utter those three awful words—"I have cancer"—but here she was on the phone with Shelby doing just that.

This time, the uncontrolled multiplication of abnormal cells, for that's what cancer is, was concentrated in her left breast.

"Oh my God, Allie, you so do not deserve this" was the first thing out of Shelby's mouth.

"Sure can't argue with that," Allie said, holding back tears and putting on the brave front that she'd perfected over her years of dealing with Andrew's life-altering disabilities and ever-dwindling prospects for reaching old age.

"So, what happens next?"

"I'm having a partial mastectomy soon—my oncologist is sending me to a surgeon for a consultation next week—and then I'll have to have chemo."

Stifling her own tears, Shelby was silent for a few minutes and then asked, "Does your doctor think this has to do with the melanoma you had in your leg?"

"That type of skin cancer is prone to metastasizing, but they were pretty confident it hadn't spread. But who knows. Cancer cells are sneaky sons of bitches."

"Have you told your bosses at the restaurant yet?"

"Yes, I called them last night after I talked to my parents. Everyone is being very supportive and telling me not to worry about how much time I'll miss at work.

"I have really good insurance through the restaurant, so that won't be a problem, and my mom and dad will help with whatever expenses aren't covered. And Andrew's parents say that whatever I need, they'll be there for me, too."

"How are your parents taking it?" Shelby asked.

"They're pretty shook up. My older sister's MS is a constant worry for them, and my younger sister needs a lot of help with my nephew because her ex lost his job and is behind in his child support payments.

"And now this," said Allie, who was getting a headache from holding back her tears.

"Are they coming down from Pennsylvania anytime soon?"

"They want to, but my dad can't take time off from his job right now because the recent layoffs left them so shorthanded. And my mom has to watch my nephew after he gets out of school until my sister gets home from work."

"I wish there was something I could do."

"There really isn't anything right now, Shelby, but I appreciate the offer."

"Of course, Allie. You know I'll do anything I can to help."

"Maybe there is one thing, for later. The doctor says I'm going to lose my hair because of the chemo, and I've been wanting a Tampa Bay Rays or Bucs hat."

"I'd say that's the least I can do."

***

ALLIE WANTED SO BADLY to feel sorry for herself, but then she'd think of Andrew and how much he'd endured, and she didn't think she had a right to complain.

Surprisingly, the pain wasn't too bad, and dealing with the tubes inserted to remove fluids while she healed was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

Her bandage hadn't come off yet, and until it did, she wasn't going to worry about how her breast looked. That's what she told herself anyway.

Her more immediate concern was how the chemo would affect her. Her friend Connie had gotten violently ill after each of her treatments but had assured Allie that not everyone responded the same way.

"Cancer isn't a death sentence," Connie also had promised Allie to ease her mind during her first go-round with cancer.

Sadly, it had been for Connie. Four years after her double mastectomy, as she counted down the months toward the five-year remission benchmark, a CT scan had detected several small brain tumors.

Soon, the cancer had invaded other parts of her body until it finally took her from her husband and five-year-old son.

Allie shuddered at those memories now, then shoved them to the back of her mind. She buried them along with her fears for her own life and set herself to the task of getting well.

Chapter 28

**A** s it turned out, Allie didn't lose much hair, and she survived the chemo without having to hug the toilet bowl too much.

All in all, she considered herself lucky and was back to work within a couple of months.

Five months after her breast cancer diagnosis, she found herself out on a date for the first time in forever.

She and James Parks, one of the sheriff's deputies who often spent his dinner hour at the restaurant where Allie worked, went to the movies to watch Vin Diesel shoot bad guys and blow stuff up.

Afterward, when James dropped her off at her car in the restaurant parking lot, he gave her a chaste kiss that Allie longed to turn into a passionate lip-lock.

They made plans to do it again—the movie, not the kiss, but a girl could hope—the next time they had a day off together.

Allie couldn't wait to share the good news with someone, so she called Shelby the next day.

"I'm dating James," she announced.

"What? Wow, that's great, Allie. I know you've liked him for a while."

"Yes, and I was starting to think he was never going to ask me out. I mean, he's always been really friendly and even flirty sometimes, but we seemed stuck on being dinnertime buddies."

"So, how did he ask you out?"

"It wasn't any big romantic moment. As he was leaving the restaurant one night, he just said, 'Have you seen Van Diesel's new movie?' "

"Vin Diesel."

"What?"

"It's Vin Diesel, not Van."

"Vin, Van, whatever. Anyway, we had a really good time, and we're going out again as soon as we can coordinate our days off."

"Good. I'm really happy for you, Allie. You deserve to have some fun."

"Ain't that the truth."

***

WHEN SHELBY AND ALLIE spoke again a few weeks later, the mood was entirely different.

"I have some bad news," Allie said, and Shelby's stomach did a double gainer.

"Oh, God. What now?"

"James was killed in a motorcycle accident last night," Allie said, her voice faltering.

"Oh, no. Oh, Allie, how awful. What happened?"

"He was heading home on U.S. 19 after spending the day at a biker festival in Leesburg. It was raining, he was changing lanes and a car hit him."

"How did you find out?"

"One of the girls from the restaurant called me at home. Some of James's cop buddies came in late last night hoping I was working so they could tell me. I just can't believe it."

Alllie closed her eyes tightly as if to hold in the tears, took a deep breath and let it out. Then she did it again.

"I can't believe it, either," Shelby said. "I don't know what to say except that I'm so, so sorry."

"That's really all anyone can say. The funeral is Saturday and I'm taking off work to go with a few people from the restaurant."

"If you need somebody to talk to afterward, you can always call me, right?"

"Yeah," Allie said, smothering a sob. "I know."

The next day, Shelby rifled through the newspaper until she saw the story inside the metro section: "Deputy dies in motorcycle crash."

Investigators were quoted as saying that James Parks and the passenger on his bike, identified as his girlfriend Marla Rogers, were hit after the motorcycle cut off a car while changing lanes on the rain-slick highway.

They were pronounced dead at the scene. Alcohol wasn't believed to be a factor, but as is standard procedure, the final determination was pending results of toxicology tests. Because James was deemed to be at fault, no charges would be filed.

Shelby stared at the newspaper, her mind trying to make sense of the words "his girlfriend." She wanted to call Allie and ask, "What the hell?" but didn't want to make her feel worse than she already did.

Allie ended up calling Saturday after the funeral to give a complete recap of all the funny anecdotes and touching tributes. The church had been packed. Allie seemed to be handling it well, so Shelby decided to go ahead and ask the question that had been bugging her.

"Did you see the paper the other day with the story about the accident?"

"Yes, I have a copy at home."

"Allie, who was Marla Rogers? Did you know her?"

"Nope, never met her."

"The story made it sound like they'd been dating a while."

"Yeah, well, I don't know too much about that."

"Did James ever mention her?"

"I don't recall that he ever did."

Shelby didn't want to press her friend any further, and it didn't matter now anyway, so she let the subject drop.

Chapter 29

**A** fter all the bad news and ill health she'd endured, Allie needed a diversion. It arrived in the form of a trip to Crystal River, where Shelby was doing her open-water dive for her scuba class.

Roy had been certified before they'd met and had suggested she take the class so they could go diving together.

To convince her how much fun it was, they'd headed to Crystal River a few months earlier, and Shelby had sat in the rented skiff while Roy plopped over the side and swam the short distance to the main spring.

Normally, he wouldn't go scuba diving without a buddy for safety's sake. But there were dozens of boats within easy hailing distance, the water was thick with other divers on this sunny spring day and he wasn't going very deep. So, Roy wasn't worried about going unnoticed in the unlikely event he got into trouble.

Soon, he swam back to the boat, climbed in, took his regulator out of his mouth and his mask off, and smiled at his wife.

"I definitely want to take scuba lessons," she informed him.

"Great! What made you decide?"

"That woman over there with the matching pink gear," Shelby said, pointing at a boat about thirty yards away. "All these boats are anchored here, and all the divers are swimming in the same direction to the spring, and she asks the guy with her, 'Which way to the hole?'

"I figure if somebody that dumb can learn to scuba dive, I certainly can, too."

Now, it was time for Shelby to show her instructor what she'd learned during the weeks of lessons in a pool and a classroom.

Roy again rented a motorboat and this time had a full crew: his kids and Allie.

Dillon brought his mask and fins and was eager to slip into the water with his father and stepmother, but Allie was firmly rooted to her seat, as was Carrie.

"I'm not going in there with them platterpusses," the girl announced with a shudder.

"With what?" Allie asked.

"Platterpusses," Carrie repeated. "You know, those big, gray things that swim really slow and get hit by boats."

"Those aren't platypuses, you mo-ron," Dillon said. "Those are manatees. And they won't hurt you."

"That's why they call them 'gentle giants,' " Shelby assured. "They're vegetarians."

"I don't care. I'm not getting in the water with them," Carrie insisted.

"Good," Dillon said. "You can sit here and keep an eye out for the Moby Dick of manatees and try to keep it from sinking the boat."

Her eyes widened and Carrie wailed, "Daaaad!"

Roy's answer was to secure his mask over his face and fall backward into the chilly water, followed a few second later by Shelby and then Dillon.

As Shelby swam just below the surface toward the center of the spring where her instructor awaited, she kept feeling something pulling on her as though she was towing something. Because of the air tank on her back, she couldn't easily see behind her, so she finally stopped and turned her whole body around.

There was Dillon, his grinning mouth wrapped around Shelby's spare regulator, swimming along happily in her wake. She blew out a few bubbles as she laughed, gave him a finger wave, turned back around and kept swimming.

When she reached her assembled dive class and lost her hitchhiker, the instructor paired her with a twenty-something woman so they could practice buddy breathing.

They both sank to the sandy bottom of the main spring, Shelby took a breath and spit out her regulator, and they grabbed hold of each other's buoyancy control vests. Then they shared the other woman's regulator as she inflated her vest and they calmly ascended to the surface.

When they reached the top, the instructor said "good job" and Shelby's partner let go of her. But Shelby hadn't had a chance to inflate her own vest and promptly started sinking like a stone.

She did what all her training had taught her not to: She panicked. Instead of reaching for her regulator, Shelby tried to swim back to the surface, but her weight belt kept pulling her down.

Her instructor saw what was happening and, seconds after Shelby hit bottom in thirty feet of water, appeared at her side, grabbed the regulator dangling at the end of the air hose attached to her tank and brought it to her mouth.

Shelby, her eyes wide and her lungs starting to ache, had the presence of mind to exhale first to avoid swallowing water before taking a much-needed breath.

***

SHELBY COMPLETED HER OTHER drills and explored the spring without further incident, and a couple of hours later she was back in the car headed home with her family and Allie. Everybody was happily tired and famished.

"I'm so hungry I could eat the ass out of a rag doll," Dillon announced as they pulled into the parking lot of Roy's favorite barbecue place, famous for its pork plate special, dubbed "The Squeal Deal."

"Dillon!" Carrie admonished. "Dad, Dillon said ass."

"I heard him," Roy said, "and I heard you, too. Both of you knock it off."

Shelby looked in the back seat at Allie and both women tried not to laugh.

After they trooped inside and got settled at a table, Carrie picked up a menu insert promoting new side dishes, screwed up her face and said, "That's disgusting!"

When everyone looked at her quizzically, she elaborated. "Why would anyone want to eat fried orca?"

"People don't eat Shamu, you mo-ron," Dillon said.

Roy elbowed his son in the side and looked at his daughter. "I think you mean okra," he told her.

"I don't know why anybody would eat that, either," she said.

Chapter 30

**A** llie's periodic checkups with her oncologist brought good news for the next sixteen months. Until a few days before Christmas.

She'd been feeling more tired than usual, kept running a fever and was getting constant headaches. She thought it was the flu, which was going around at work, and that she'd been putting in too many hours at the restaurant. Andrew's father, the now-retired doctor with whom Allie still lived, strongly advised her to go in for blood tests.

When the results came back, Allie was stunned.

Her white blood cell count was sky high and, given her history of cancer and chemotherapy, it appeared the disease was back, this time with a vengeance. She went directly from her doctor's office to a nearby hospital for a bone marrow biopsy.

Having a needle inserted into her breast bone was one hell of a way to spend an afternoon, especially when she'd hoped to finish her Christmas shopping.

As she waited for the test results, she punched Shelby's number into her cell phone and tried her best to keep the worry out of her voice.

"Hey, Allie, how's it going? You ready for Christmas?"

"Not exactly. I'm in the hospital."

"Oh God, what happened?"

"I haven't been feeling well, so I had blood tests done and it looks like the cancer is back." She paused for a second after Shelby's sudden intake of breath.

"They did a bone marrow biopsy this afternoon; they think I might have leukemia."

"Leukemia?"

"Yes, it's a cancer of the blood cells. It starts in the bone marrow, which is where blood cells are made."

"I don't understand. Why would you have leukemia now after having breast cancer?"

"Nobody really knows what causes leukemia, but people who've had chemo for some other type of cancer have a higher risk of getting leukemia, unfortunately."

"When will you know for sure?"

"Hopefully by early this evening."

"Okay, look. I'll be off work around seven and the hospital is on my way home, so I'll stop in and see you, all right?"

"I'd like that. I'm in room B-123."

"I'll see you after a while."

"I'm not going anywhere."

When Shelby walked into Allie's hospital room a few hours later, her friend was sitting nervously on her bed with an overnight bag on her lap as a nurse and an orderly scurried in and out.

"They're transferring me," Allie said anxiously before Shelby could ask what was going on.

"What? Where?"

"To the hospital where my oncologist is. He reviewed my test results and said I have acute leukemia, and he wants me there tonight to start treatment first thing in the morning."

Shelby looked bewildered and Allie, her eyes darting around the room and her adrenaline flowing, kept talking so she didn't have to ponder her friend's stunned silence.

"They're taking me by ambulance and they'll start getting me ready in about forty-five minutes, so I don't have a lot of time to visit."

"I understand," Shelby said numbly. "Is there anybody you want me to call, anything you need?"

"Say some prayers for me. I could use divine intervention right about now."

***

WHEN SHELBY AND ROY walked into the hospital room early Christmas afternoon, Allie was sitting on the bed holding court, surrounded by several friends from the restaurant.

"Hey, guys," Allie called cheerfully. "Merry Christmas."

"You, too," Roy said, pasting a smile on his face. "Looks like we're late for the party. What did we miss?"

"Melissa and Lee were just giving me crap because they got called in to work later today because I'm obviously not going to be there," Allie said. "It takes two people to replace me, you know."

"Now, Allie. Nobody can take your place and you know it," Lee told her. "I won't know what to do without you there to bop me upside the head with a jumbo roll of paper towels."

"I can relate to that," Roy said. "She did that to me once while I was driving to a Tampa Bay Bucs game. Right in the back of the head. I almost drove off the road."

"Oh, puhleeeze, you did not," Allie said. "You're lucky I don't have a roll handy right now or I'd do it again."

"You would, wouldn't you," Roy said with a smile.

"Yep, and that's why you all love me."

"We do, you know," Shelby said. "Very much."

"I love all of you, too, and I'll be out of here before you know it."

"We're going to hold you to that," Melissa said. "But right now we've got to get going because we have to go to work to cover your shift. On Christmas, no less."

After Allie hugged her co-workers goodbye and they walked out of the room, she flopped back against her pillows and blew out a big breath.

"You okay?" Shelby asked worriedly.

"Just tired," Allie replied. "You know how it is in a hospital. You don't get much sleep."

"How are you feeling otherwise?" Roy asked.

"So far so good, I guess. The chemo hasn't really made me sick—yet. Knock on wood," she said, tapping the side of her head with her knuckles.

"Let's hope it stays that way," Shelby said. "I see they put in another port."

"Port?" Roy asked.

"A port-a-cath. It's a round, plastic disc that was implanted under my skin near my shoulder," Allie explained, pointing to her chest, "and it's attached to a catheter tube threaded into one of these large veins close to my neck."

Roy shuddered. "Sounds painful."

"It wasn't too bad, as these things go. The incision is about an inch long, and it's done with a local anesthetic. With a port, they don't have to insert an IV every time I get a chemo treatment."

"That's something, I guess," Roy said, not sounding convinced.

"Men are such babies," Shelby said, rolling her eyes as Allie nodded in agreement.

"Well, let's talk about something more fun. You going to your parents' after you leave here?" Allie asked.

"A little later," Shelby said. "First we have to stop and see our friend Jessica. Her husband, Waylon, died suddenly yesterday morning?"

"Waylon, Waylon...wait a minute, I know him. That's one of your friends from the marina, right? Older guy with the younger wife from England?"

Shelby nodded.

"They used to come into the restaurant at least once a week, and if I could I'd take a break and sit and talk with them," Allie said. "They both were always so nice. They remembered me from seeing me out on your boat.

"I can't believe he's dead. What happened?"

"Apparently, he had a heart condition he didn't tell anybody about, not even his wife," Roy said. "He died in bed sometime during the night; Jessica woke up and found him that way."

"On Christmas Eve? God, how awful," Allie said.

"Yeah, merry effing Christmas," Shelby said, shaking her head. "We still can't believe it, either.

"But just about every time we saw him, he had a glass of scotch in his hand, and he smoked like a chimney, so I guess it shouldn't be a total surprise. But still..."

"Tell Jessica I'm really sorry about Waylon," Allie said, "and that I'm thinking about her."

How like Allie to be concerned for someone else when she's facing so much uncertainty herself, Shelby thought.

Chapter 31

**T** his time, it looked for a while as though Allie wasn't going to pull through. Over the next few weeks, she got much sicker before she started getting better.

Between the chemo and the leukemia the drugs were battling, Allie had no strength to do much of anything, which probably was a good thing given that she was stuck in the hospital.

Talk about mining for a silver lining. Allie had to dig really deep to find that one.

In front of friends and friends who were like family, she continued to take her illness in stride. But in the lonely hours after she turned off the TV and the lights and fought to find more than fitful sleep, Allie could admit to herself that she was afraid. Very afraid.

In the not so stillness of those nights—after all, she was in a hospital, where silence was always tarnished—she often talked to Andrew, the disabled young man who'd been more like a son than an obligation.

She told him her fears about dying too young, about leaving so many things unsaid and undone, especially never having forged a family of her own with a husband and children.

And she told Andrew that she missed him terribly, and that the only upside to dying would be spending eternity with him in heaven, because that's where she knew he was and where she'd be going.

Allie hadn't been a regular churchgoer in years, but she'd lived an honest life and had never hurt anyone willingly, although she'd been tempted a few times, mostly to protect loved ones from physical or emotional harm.

Shelby had always said that if she ever won the lottery, she'd hire Allie to keep people looking for a handout the hell away from her. Yes, Allie could be bossy and even intimidating when she wanted or needed to be.

Now, with her body was at war with itself, she needed to be even tougher. She needed to stand strong against the abnormal, rapidly growing white blood cells trying to overwhelm and stop her healthy blood cells from doing their vital jobs: fighting infection, carrying oxygen to tissues throughout her body and clotting to control bleeding.

Allie spent several months in the hospital this time doing exactly that. She was a model patient, never whining about being poked, prodded and awakened in the middle of the night by nurses checking her vital signs or giving her medication.

She also accepted the loss of her hair with typical bravado. It was falling out in clumps anyway, so one afternoon she asked a nurse to just shave the rest of it.

Shelby, as promised, had given her hats with the logos of their favorite local sports teams. But Allie much preferred the acrylic beanie (in orange, the color for leukemia patients) with "Cancer Sucks" embroidered on the front that one of her sisters had sent her.

When her blood counts finally stabilized and doctors deemed her leukemia in remission, she finally was sent home to, once again, begin rebuilding her life.

***

"I REALLY MISS THE restaurant," Allie told Shelby one night when they were chatting on the phone.

"Really? You miss working?"

"I don't miss the work so much as I miss the customers and people I work with."

"I'll bet it's pretty quiet around there without you," Shelby said.

"So I hear," Allie said. "It's certainly too quiet around this house. I'm tired of being cooped up here. I want to get out and do something. There's only so much Wheel of Fortune and Judge Judy a person can watch."

"Five minutes of Judge Judy is too much for me," Shelby said. "I've got another stack of books I can bring over."

"Thanks, but I haven't finished the last stack you gave me. Can't seem to concentrate long enough to get through a book. Must be the chemo brain."

"The what?"

"Chemo brain," Allie said. "It's the mental fog that cancer patients can get before, during and after having chemotherapy."

"Does it impair your memory?"

"I don't know, I can't remember."

"Ha, ha. I'll bet it's a lot like fibro fog."

"Never heard of that."

"It's the muddled thinking caused by fibromyalgia. I feel it from time to time, although it doesn't seem to happen as often since I changed medications."

"How are you doing with your fibromyalgia anyway?" Allie asked.

"I still ache like hell and get really stiff, especially in the mornings. I'm tired a lot of the time, too. Sometimes it's like having a flu that never ends."

"I'm sorry, Shelby, that really sucks."

"It does. But once I force myself to get going, I usually can get through the day okay."

"I can relate to that."

"I know you can, which is why we shouldn't even be talking about my problems when you've been through so much more."

"That doesn't make your pain any less real," Allie said.

"No, but it always could be worse, you know? That's how I look at it, and I try not to complain. Sure, I feel like crap, I just got laid off from a newspaper job for the second time and I'm working at a part-time, dead-end job for a pittance.

"But there's always somebody out there who has it worse, sometimes a whole lot worse."

"Don't I know it," Allie agreed.

***

SIX MONTHS AFTER SHE landed in the hospital with a diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia, Allie was back at work as night manager, bossing around the restaurant's servers, busboys, cashiers and kitchen help as if she'd never left.

Her co-workers and favorite customers dubbed her "Timex" because, they explained, "she takes a licking and keeps on ticking."

And Allie dared to hope, once again, that the worst was behind her.

For a while, it was. For nine months, her blood levels were normal.

And then they weren't.

Chapter 32

**A** llie had stuffed her fears into a dark corner of her mind after she'd left the hospital, and now her anxiety was roaring like an avalanche down a mountainside.

For a few dozen heartbeats, she considered refusing further treatment. She just wasn't sure she could face more needles, more pain and more poison called chemo coursing through her veins.

And then she thought about how her family and friends would feel, and she knew she'd keep fighting as long as she drew breath.

Allie barely could pronounce, let alone spell, her opponent this go-round—myelodysplastic syndrome, or MDS for short—so she called it by its former name of preleukemia because that made it easier to understand.

The bottom line was that her bone marrow wasn't making enough healthy blood cells.

Like the bout of acute leukemia she'd already endured, doctors determined Allie's new threat stemmed from her earlier cancer treatments. That made it "secondary" MDS, and there was a good chance it would develop into acute leukemia.

Essentially, Allie was caught in a cancer catch-22.

And this time, chemotherapy alone wouldn't be enough to save her. She'd need a bone marrow transplant.

To prepare her body, she'd be given high doses of chemo to kill the diseased cells; to destroy the blood-forming cells in her marrow to make room for the healthy donated cells; and to wipe out her immune system to prevent it from attacking those new cells.

Allie also had to await a bone marrow match, which worried her because the majority of people who need a transplant don't find a donor within their family.

Her three sisters offered the best chance for a match, but two already were disqualified: one because of her MS; the other because she'd undergone a double mastectomy only a few months before Allie's latest health crisis was discovered.

The third sister, as it turned out, wasn't a match. Neither were their parents.

Shelby and other friends offered to get tested to see if they could be donors, but Allie kept putting them off for reasons she never explained.

After a few nervous weeks, she finally received word that a match had been found from the national donor registry.

***

ALLIE INSISTED ON DRIVING herself to her chemo appointments. She knew she'd be unable to drive for some time after the transplant, so she was hanging on to what little normalcy she had left.

But she also knew she'd be kept in a sterile cocoon after her transplant, which meant restricted visits with friends, so she agreed to let Shelby take her to one of her treatments.

Shelby's father had received chemo years before for his bladder cancer, but she never went with him because the conduit for his drugs was a very private part of his anatomy. So she wasn't sure what to expect now.

Allie strolled into the outpatient clinic and greeted the nurses like old friends. She and Shelby settled side by side into comfortable, reclining chairs, and someone handed them several stapled papers filled with jokes and amusing stories.

Allie didn't have a port this time, so the nurse lifted one of her arms and searched for a "good" vein for the IV.

"You can do it anywhere except the hand," Allie said.

The nurse attempted insertions in both arms, blowing out no less than five veins in the process. Allie winced and muttered "oh!" each time but otherwise remained stoic. A second nurse came over and tried to help, to no avail.

Finally, she looked apologetically at Allie and said, "I know you hate it, but there's only one option left."

Allie made a sour face, blew out a breath and replied, "I was afraid of that. Go ahead. Do what you gotta do."

"Read her some jokes," one of the nurses directed Shelby, pointing at the papers she'd set on the table next to her chair. Allie reached over and clutched her friend's hand in a vise grip as Shelby started to read: "A millionaire, a hard hat and a drunk are at a bar..."

As the other nurse inserted the needle into the top of Allie's right hand, she grimaced and groaned, and Shelby flinched and hurt right along with her. Several agonizing moments later, the IV was in place and the treatment began.

"Whew, that was a bad one," said Allie, her face glazed with sweat.

That was the understatement of the year, Shelby thought.

***

"AFTER MY TRANSPLANT, I'LL have to get all my childhood vaccinations again because I'll be starting fresh with a whole new immune system," Allie explained to Shelby.

They were in Allie's private room at a regional hospital in Tampa specializing in cancer cases, and her procedure was scheduled for later in the week.

Shelby hadn't seen her friend for a few weeks and was disconcerted at the change in Allie's appearance. She'd lost her hair again, and her whole body seemed...swollen. When Shelby had walked through the door, she almost hadn't recognized Allie.

"How exactly is a bone marrow transplant done?" Shelby asked.

"The donated stem cells will go into my body intravenously, like a blood transfusion," Allie said. "The new cells then find their way to my bones and start to make healthy white blood cells.

"The first hundred days after the transplant are the most critical because I'll be at risk for complications like infections, bleeding, new cancers, graft-versus-host disease—"

"Wait, what?"

"Graft-versus-host disease. That's when the transplanted cells turn against your body and can affect your lungs, skin, intestines, liver, eyes—"

"I had no idea a marrow transplant was this complicated."

"You don't know the half of it, Shelby. It would make your head spin. And I love all the acronyms these doctors use: MUD, HLA, BMT—"

"That last one sounds like a sandwich."

"Doesn't it? Anyway, after I leave the hospital, I'll live for a few months at a small apartment complex nearby that's just for outpatients. The good news is, my parents can stay there with me."

"I'm glad about your parents, but a few months? Wow."

"I know, so you and Roy had better come see me or I'll get bored and lonely."

"You know we will," Shelby said.

"And then once I go home, I'll have to take all kinds of precautions to make sure that bacteria and other germs don't make me sick. I have no idea when I'll be allowed to go back to work."

"Don't worry about that for right now, Allie. Just focus on getting better. We've still got places to go, people to see and things to do together."

***

A WEEK AFTER THE transplant, Shelby still hadn't heard from Allie. Texts and voicemails to her cell phone went unanswered. Shelby called Andrew's parents, but they didn't have an update, either.

She was way past worried but figured Allie was overwhelmed or wasn't feeling up to dealing with anyone.

Allie finally called a few days later, and she sounded as if she barely had the strength to push the words out of her mouth.

"Been sleeping a lot, phone was off," she explained, breathing as if she'd been running up and down a flight of stairs. "No energy. None. Don't want company, no offense."

Another week or so went by and Allie called again, this time sounding more like her old self.

"Good news," she told Shelby. "The doctors say I'm doing so well I may get to go home earlier than expected."

"That's wonderful! I've been really concerned about you."

"Tell me about it. I've been pretty concerned about myself. Early next week, I have to see my oncologists and get my blood checked, so I'll know more then."

Allie went into the weekend feeling upbeat, and she even had enough oomph to play gin rummy with her parents, read one of the books Shelby gave her and take a short walk around the apartment complex.

But Monday, the bottom dropped out of her world, and it went spinning off its axis.

Chapter 33

**A** llie didn't know how to ease into news like this, so she said it straight out and to the point.

"It didn't work."

"What? What do you mean?" Shelby asked.

"The transplant. It didn't work. They're sending me home."

"I don't understand. I thought you were doing better."

"So did I," Allie said, her voice wavering.

"So, now what?"

"Nothing"

"Nothing?"

"There's nothing else they can do. I'm supposed to talk to somebody from the hospice house after I get back to Clearwater so we can figure out when I'll have to move in there."

"Hospice house?" Shelby said weakly.

"Yeah, look, I'll call you again in a few days, okay? I've really gotta go," Allie said, sounding as if she was barely holding it together.

"Um, okay," Shelby managed. Before she could say anything else, her friend pushed the "end call" button on her cell phone.

Shelby spent the rest of the week in a fog, and she couldn't imagine how Allie was feeling.

***

SHELL-SHOCKED. THAT'S HOW ALLIE was feeling. With her parents' help, she was sorting through her bedroom closet, dresser drawers and a few boxes in what had been Andrew's room in the house where she'd tended to him for so many years.

Now, the room felt lifeless and empty, just like Allie. But she forced herself to start getting her affairs in order while she still was able. And she was determined not to fade away quietly.

Shelby had challenged her to compile a bucket list, by God, and that's exactly what Allie was going to do.

After she met with the people at hospice and with her doctor, they decided she wasn't ready just yet for residential end-of-life care. That buoyed Allie's spirits for a few days until she started feeling as wrung out as an old dishcloth.

Test results showed that her blood counts—white cells, red cells and platelets—were way too low, so her oncologist prescribed a few days in the hospital and then a short stay at the hospice house.

"It's just so they can build up my levels," Allie assured Shelby. "Then I should be feeling a lot better, and maybe we can go out to dinner at that Japanese place where they cook your meal at your table while you watch."

"And maybe even a Rays game," Shelby suggested, "or something on your bucket list."

"Whatever we do, I plan to keep kicking until I kick the bucket," Allie replied, amused by her play on words.

"I'm going away for a week, but when I get back I expect to find you feeling better, understand?"

"Where are you going, Shelby?"

"South Carolina. I haven't seen my brother since he finished his radiation treatments and his throat cancer went into remission. And I haven't seen my cousin's new baby. She's coming down from Virginia and we're going to spend the week at my brother's, hanging out by his pool and just enjoying each other's company."

"That's great, Shelby. I know it's been a while since you've all been together."

"It's been five years at least. It's so hard to sync everybody's schedules. Roy couldn't get vacation time to go, unfortunately, but the rest of us finally figured it out. I can't wait."

Shelby paused for a moment to carefully consider what to say next.

"You're going to be...uh, okay while I'm gone, right?" she asked tentatively.

"Of course, Shelby. You go and have a wonderful time. Call me when you get back and tell me all about it. And I want to see lots of pictures."

"Absolutely. Love you, Allie."

"Love you, too."

***

SHELBY HAD BEEN IN South Carolina for only a couple of days when her cell phone rang early on Sunday morning. She'd told her brother about Allie, and now he feared the worst when Shelby answered the call, listened for a moment and then said "Oh, God" in a strangled voice.

She talked for a few more minutes before ending the call and sitting in stunned silence, tears streaming down her face.

"Is it Allie?" her brother asked gently, although he already knew.

When Shelby simply nodded her head, her cousin hurried over and wrapped her in a comforting hug. They talked quietly for a few minutes, and then Shelby wiped away her tears with the hem of her T-shirt and called her husband.

"It wasn't supposed to happen so quickly," she told Roy. "She told me she was just going in the hospital for some transfusions to help her feel better."

"What went wrong?" he asked.

"She started having terrible headaches because apparently she was bleeding internally. The only good thing, if you can call it that, is that she went peacefully. She'd lost consciousness at the end."

"Thank goodness for that," Roy said. He sniffed a couple of times, cleared his throat and then asked, "When's the funeral?"

"At the end of the week, in Pennsylvania. It's going to be small, pretty much family only."

"Are you okay, Shelby?" Roy asked softly.

"Yeah, I'm just really sad. And mad. I feel like she got cheated at the end, you know? She fought so hard and suffered so much. She should at least have had a few more months to do a few more things on her bucket list."

"Bucket list, my ass," Roy said, and his tone took Shelby by surprise.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Think about it: Allie didn't need no stinkin' bucket list."

"She didn't?" Shelby asked hopefully.

"Hell, no. She squeezed every bit of joy out of life she could. You remember how she'd set aside her troubles for a few hours and just live in the moment whenever we went someplace? She'd have the best time. Always."

"Yeah, I envied that, wished I was more like her."

"I'd say she certainly got her money's worth," Roy said, "wouldn't you agree?"

###

About the Author

A veteran of more than 30 years of newspaper work, Annette Mardis is still writing and editing, now on a freelance basis. A native of Florida, where she lives with her husband and three extremely spoiled pets, Annette also is an avid reader, motorcycle enthusiast, sports fan and animal lover.

Connect with Annette at www.annettemardis.com, and on Amazon, Facebook, Goodreads, Linked In and Pinterest. 
