Title: You’re Aging Well

Author: Green Quarter

Email: green_quarter70@yahoo.com

Pairing: S/B

Rating: R

Part 5

This section contains lyrics from “The Laws Have Changed,” by The New Pornographers.

~~~~~

Brooke woke to the insistent beep of her alarm, immediately aware that Sam was not beside her.  She was still tired, and could easily have slept another several hours, but her day was packed and she needed to get up.  She thought back to the previous night, and the morose thoughts that had made her upset, and resolved to put the Paola sighting out of her mind.  Dwelling on it would only make things worse, and a positive outlook was what she and the baby needed right now.  Anyway, she thought she had become far too overwrought with emotion about the whole thing, and wanted to chalk it up to her tumultuous hormones.

She got up and zombied to the bathroom, opening the door to find Sam, dressed to the teeth in her one good suit, gazing into a small spot on the mirror that had been wiped dry of condensation as she carefully applied eyeliner.  There were two things wrong with this picture that Brooke could see.

Firstly, Sam rarely wore the suit, a black Armani trouser suit that Brooke had found for her at a runway sale she had gone to with Nic one or two years back.  Sam wore pretty much whatever she wanted while she worked and really didn’t have a need for corporate attire.  She and Sam had jokingly referred to it as her “Interview for a Funeral” suit, as those seemed to be the only two occasions when it was needed, although Sam did wear it every once in a while to intimidate or impress an interview subject.  Every time she put it on Brooke commented that she should wear it more often, as it seemed to be tailor-made for Sam’s body.  The flattering lines of the suit made her appear taller and whippet thin, and Sam looked coolly elegant and stunningly sharp in it.

Secondly, Sam had been wearing makeup less and less as the years passed, again, because her job didn’t really require it.  Sam had access to pretty much anything she could want from Julian, but when she did use cosmetics, she pretty much stuck to just lipstick and mascara.  Something big was definitely up, Brooke deduced.

“Hubba, Hubba,” Brooke said and stood next to her, looking at Sam’s reflection in the mirror.  “Gotta hot date, baby?”

“At seven in the morning?  Please.”  Sam smiled over at Brooke, a pleased look on her face, but she didn’t explain.  “Do you want a ride downtown again this morning?  I’m meeting Carmen for coffee at that new café that’s right near your building.  She’s so busy these days that she can only meet up before court is in session.”  Sam shook her head in disbelief.

“You got all dressed up like that for Carmen?”

“No, I have another meeting later,” Sam replied vaguely, as she moved behind Brooke and embraced her, spanning her hands across Brooke’s tummy.  “Hey, I’m making eggs for mama and baby, they’ll be ready in twenty minutes, like you will be, right?”  Sam gave Brooke a “be ready, or else,” kind of look.

“Yes, I’ll be ready, and thanks for the ride,” Brooke leaned back and kissed Sam on the cheek.  She was so not up to facing rush hour traffic this morning.

“Do you want anything in your eggs?”  Sam asked as she started out of the bathroom.

“Hmm.  How about caviar?” Brooke smirked at Sam.

“Fresh out.  I was thinking of something more like a slice of American cheese,” Sam returned, grinning.

“Sounds good.”  It wasn’t until Brooke was in the shower that she realized that Sam hadn’t really answered her question.

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

Sam parked her car in Brooke’s spot in the parking garage beneath her office.  They walked with the tide of human bodies entering the lobby of the building, and Sam gave Brooke a distracted kiss on the cheek.  “I’ll call you later to see what time you want to be picked up, okay?  I’ve got to run.”

She sped out into the street, turning once to wave and saw that Brooke was watching her with a peculiar look on her face.  She knew she had been acting suspiciously this morning, and Brooke deserved an explanation, but there was no sense in getting her excited about something that probably wasn’t going to happen.  Looking at her watch, she hurried down the block towards the yellow and white striped awning that fronted the café where she was meeting Carmen.

She quickly located Carmen sitting at one of the tables inside, bent over a legal-sized folder, sipping from a gargantuan cup of coffee.  Sam slid into the seat across from her, and gripped the sides of the table.

“Is she here yet?” Sam asked anxiously.

“Well, hello, how are you doing, to you too,” Carmen said sardonically.

“I’m sorry, Carm, I’m just so nervous.  I’m freaking out.”

“Will you relax?  She’s not going to bite your head off; she’s really very nice.  And no, she hasn’t gotten here yet.”

“Good.  I need to calm the hell down.  It’s just that it’s been such a long time coming to this point, I don’t want to blow this chance.”

“Don’t worry, everything will be fine.  It’s really good, Sam.  I bet she likes it, too.  We had pretty similar tastes when we were roommates in college, she’s bound to think it’s great.”

“But she’s seen a lot of stuff.  She’s a professional,” Sam groaned.  “What am I even doing?  All right, I think I just need to stop thinking about it for a minute.”  She took a deep breath.  “So how are you, Carmen?  This new job is keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Carmen replied.  “Just learning how to navigate through this impenetrable corporate culture could be a full time job.  But it’s all pretty exciting, I’m kind of enjoying it.  Don’t tell Lily.”

Carmen was cheerfully aware of Lily’s opinion of her defection to the private sector.  Having paid her dues in the public defender’s office, and becoming as much as a star as one could be in that arena, Carmen had been courted by several large firms that sought her talents.  Now she wanted to raise her profile and cash in a little bit on her success.  The benefit of being wooed, she had told Sam, was that she was able to stipulate in her contract that a certain percentage of her time would go to developing a pro bono program for disenfranchised youth at her new firm.  Sam knew that Carmen had wearied of seeing the worst side of humanity and was happy that she had found a way to incorporate what she had liked best about her old job into her new one.

“I won’t,” Sam replied.  “How’s Ray?”

Carmen and her husband Ray had carried on a stormy love affair all through Carmen’s college years.  Sam had actually introduced the pair just before starting college herself, and had honestly never thought that lively, bubbly Carmen and taciturn and aloof Ray could make it work.  But Carmen was just what Ray had needed, giving him faith in himself to start his own indie record label that after many years of hard work was finally starting to have some success.  They had gotten married a few years after Carmen had graduated, and Sam still felt some residual guilt that she hadn’t even known about their wedding until she returned to California and had renewed her friendship with Carmen.

“He’s fine.  He’s all jazzed about some new band from Orange County he just signed.”  Carmen said fondly.  “He says they’re going to put him on the map.”

“Aw, he’s already on the map,” Sam replied.

“I’ll tell him you said so.  How is Brooke feeling?”

“She’s feeling okay, I think.  The “Being With Child” thing has made her chronically tired, so she sleeps a lot, but other than that, she’s doing well.  Doctor says everything is fine.”

“Good.”  Carmen slapped her forehead, remembering something.  “Oh!  She emailed me about the referral I was going to give you guys about the second parent adoption attorney.  I forgot to reply to her, tell her I’ll get to it soon.

“Will do.  It’s not like we need it right away; we still have some time.  God, Carm, what would we do without you and your connections?”  Sam smiled at her friend.  “We owe you like crazy for all that you do for us, me especially.”

“Shut up, Sam, it’s nothing.” Carmen said, embarrassed.

“Well, you guys will at least have to come over for dinner some night.  I do a mean pot roast,” Sam inveigled.

“You?  Pot roast?  Who are you trying to kid?” Carmen asked disbelievingly.

“Really!  I’ve been brushing up on my cooking skills.  I won’t kill you, I swear.”

“Yeah, right,” Carmen returned, then looked past Sam and waved.  “She’s here, Sam.”

All thoughts of roasts, pot or otherwise, flew from Sam’s mind as she stood to greet the woman approaching the table.

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

Brooke had been sitting at her desk going through her email when her phone rang.  “Hello?”

“Can you come into my office, please?”

Brooke sighed.  9:04AM.  Nic had given her four minutes before calling.  “What is it, Nic?”

“I need you to come into my office.”

“You come into mine.”

“No,” Nicole said smoothly.  “You come into mine.”

“Why don’t you just come in here, Nic?” Brooke started to smile.

“Because I called you, and I asked you first.  So come into my office.”

“No, you come into mine.”

“No, mine.”

“Mine.”

“MINE!”

The two of them dissolved into a fit of giggles, and Brooke heard Nic hang up.  A minute later she appeared in Brooke’s doorway, grinning.  “We are such idiots,” she said.

“Yes,” Brooke agreed.  “Who would ever believe that we are the two highest ranking officials of this company?”

“Not me.”  Nicole flopped into one of the chairs facing Brooke’s desk.  “So how was your dinner with Sam last night?  Where’d you go?”

“Good.  L’Orangerie.”

“Wow, fancy,” Nic was impressed.  “What was the occasion, again?”

“No occasion,” Brooke said casually.  She knew if Nic got her talking about last night, she would blurt out the whole Paola story, and she just didn’t want to seem like an over-emotional pregnant lady.  “So how’s your day shaping up?”

“I’ve got a busy day of riding Kevin and Raoul’s asses planned.  They promised to have the anti-clumping agent for the mascara ready for testing yesterday and it’s still not done.  I’m going to have to go into that lab and ladle up a big steaming cup of whupass.”  Nic sounded rather pleased with that prospect.  “You?”

“Easy, killer,” Brooke warned.  “The samples aren’t being shipped to the factory in Korea until the fifteenth.  They still have time.”

“Don’t tell me how to run my lab, B, and I won’t tell you how to run your,” Nic waved her hand in a vague manner, “meetings, or whatever.”

“Yeah, like that will ever happen,” Brooke muttered, and looked at her calendar for the day.  “I have a meeting with legal at ten and then I’ll be working on next year’s budget this afternoon.”  At the thought of legal, Brooke remembered the referral Carmen was going to give her.  She had meant to remind Sam to ask Carmen about it, but had forgotten.  She could go over and talk to them, she supposed, she was free until ten.

“Okay, so maybe I’ll just go in there and help the process along,” Nic was obviously still hoping for the chance to crack some skulls.

Brooke knew how intimidated the bench chemists got when Nic spent too much time in the lab.  She shook her head.  Somehow her and Nic’s wildly divergent management styles had worked surprisingly well together, and she couldn’t argue with the results Nic coaxed from her staff.  “All right, but just don’t let it end in tears.  Hey, I’m going down to that new café for a frappucino, minus the espresso, you want anything?”

“Minus the espresso?  Brookie, why don’t you get real and call it what it is?  A chocolate milkshake?” Nic sassed.

“Okay, it’s a chocolate milkshake,” Brooke said agreeably, laughing. She pulled her wallet out of her briefcase and stood up, walking with Nic out into the hallway.  “I have to get my calcium somehow.  And if I can’t use having a baby as an excuse to have the occasional milkshake at nine in the morning, then what good is being pregnant?”

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

Three women, a redhead, a brunette, and a petite blonde, sat around a café table, making pleasant small talk.  Carmen had introduced Sam to her college friend and had spent the last several minutes telling funny anecdotes about their time at UCLA, putting Sam at ease.  Sam felt like a complete dork.  She had interviewed coked up, violent, alleged mobsters with impunity, but this tiny woman had her shaking.  She was relieved that Carmen was still here, but now Sam saw her sneak a glance at her watch.

“I guess you two have a few things to talk about, and I’m going to be late if I don’t make a move for the courthouse,” Carmen packed up her things and stood to go.  “So, I’ll just leave you to it.  It was great seeing you, Sandy; we should do it again soon.  Sam, call me later.”

“Thanks, Carm,” Sam stood up and gave Carmen a kiss on the cheek.  As Carmen left the café, Sam sat back down.  She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.  “Ms. Towers, I want to thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”

“Please, Sam, call me Sandy.” The woman smiled warmly at Sam, but got right down to business.  “I may have some very good news for you.  I was very excited by the manuscript Carmen gave me, she told me how long you’ve been trying to get it seen by publishers without success.  And that’s where I come in.  As an agent, I have access to the people who make the decisions, and I took the liberty of putting out a few feelers on your behalf, even though we haven’t signed a contract.  I think I can safely say that your manuscript has generated quite a bit of interest in children’s publishing lately.”

“Really?” Sam was at a loss for words.  Of all the outcomes she had thought possible for this meeting, she had not really let herself think that this would be one of them.

“My office is only a few blocks away.  I propose we go there and come up with a strategy to maximize the buzz that’s already started with the few pages I leaked.  Then we can really up the ante when the bidding war begins.  Carmen told me all about how the book began life as a series of letters written to your little sister.  That’s fantastic, it’ll make great jacket copy.  I want to suggest a few editors that I think could help us get the book into shape too.  And you can take a look at that oh-so-important contract I mentioned,” Sandy grinned at Sam.

“Buh – Bidding war?”  Sam repeated, in a daze.

“Would you like a glass of water?” Sandy asked, growing concerned.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Sam snapped out of it, a smile lighting up her whole face.  “So, you liked it?”

“I did,” Sandy affirmed.  “I think a lot of people are going to like your Annabella.  Shall we go?”

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

Brooke strolled down the sidewalk, taking her time, allowing the workday’s stragglers and latecomers to rush by her.  The day was beautiful and sunny, but there must have been some rain during the night because the streets were still damp.  The city felt freshly scrubbed, and Brooke breathed deeply in appreciation.  She was feeling good, the drained feeling she had woken up with now gone.  Maybe she was at last pulling out of that exhausted phase and going into the period of energy and vigor that marked the second trimester she had read so much about.  That would make a welcome change, she thought.

She had almost reached her destination when someone in a black suit who looked remarkably like Sam caught her eye.  But this person was just exiting the café, and was accompanied by a short blonde woman, and Sam would be inside with Carmen.  Wouldn’t she?

Brooke slowed her steps and tried to get a look at the face of the person who was now obscured by the umbrellas that stood up from the tables that were being set up on the outdoor patio in front of the café.  The two figures walked towards the sidewalk, approaching the iron gate that led out of the cafe.  Then the person in black stopped, and held her arm out in a gesture that allowed her companion to go ahead, and Brooke knew that it was Sam.  Sam had used that gesture with her countless times; Brooke would recognize the angle of her forearm and the casual position of her upturned palm anywhere.

As Sam held the gate open for the woman, she turned to say something to the other woman, and Brooke was able to see her face in three-quarter profile.  Sam was beaming.  She had a look of pure bliss on her face.  Brooke watched as the pair walked down the street, away from her.

She had seen that expression on Sam’s face before, and she knew what it meant.  Brooke felt like a doomed passenger on the sinking Titanic, the deck rolling and pitching beneath her unsteady feet, and Sam had just gotten into the last lifeboat without her.  She turned around and walked back to her office.

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

Sam jauntily strode into Brooke’s office sometime shortly before noon, feeling like Leonardo DiCaprio standing on the prow of a really big boat, or maybe Kate Winslet, it didn’t really matter.  She had rolled up the sleeves of her black silk blouse and had slung her suit jacket over her arm.  All she wanted to do was go out and play with Brooke and tell her the good news.

“Sing all hail, what will be revealed today, when we peer into the great unknown, from the line to the throne,” Sam sang lustily and wiggled her ass, causing Brooke to jump in surprise and swivel her chair away from the window where she had been engrossed in watching the flow of traffic down on Wilshire, as far as Sam could tell.  “You free for lunch, oh lovely, corporate cosmetic captain of industry sitting before me?” she asked, winningly.

Nic breezed in right behind Sam and interrupted.  “I have three things I need to discuss with you, Brooke, yeah, hi Spam could you please stop singing, thank you, is now a good time?”

Brooke looked from Sam to Nic, her expression glacial, but she said nothing.

“Okay, then,” Nic continued.  “First thing, the company picnic.  Attendance has been down for the past three years.  What can we do to entice our ungrateful employees to come to the one event we can afford to throw for them?”

“Hold it at night, in a bar,” Sam said promptly, grinning.  She had been to the annual Julian picnics, and horseshoes and soggy potato salad were not nearly enticing enough.

“Thank you, Don Rickles,” Nicole threw a withering glare Sam’s way.

“Sam, do you have your car keys?” Brooke asked.

Maybe Brooke felt like ditching the rest of the day too, Sam thought.  She pulled them from her pocket and held them up.  “Right here.”

Brooke got up from her desk and grabbed her briefcase.  She took the keys from Sam’s hand and left her office without a word.

Nic and Sam stared at each other, puzzled.

“You’re in trouble,” Nic accused.  “What’d you do?”

“Me? Nothing!  It must have been you.  What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I don’t think.  Where is she going, anyway?  I didn’t even get to my two other things.”

They followed her out of her office to see Brooke getting on the elevator at the end of the hallway.

“Shit.”  Sam exclaimed.  “Brooke!  Wait up.  Hold the elevator.”  She hurried down the hallway, then started to run when she saw the doors closing, and Brooke not doing a thing to hold them open for her.

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

Sam slammed the front door, ready to raise holy hell.  She found Brooke in the living room, where it looked like she had been pacing.  She looked up at Sam’s entrance and then started to pace again, her arms folded across her chest, her expression severe.

“What the hell was that all about, Brooke?  I had to take a cab.  It cost me thirty bucks!”  Sam was indignant, and totally perplexed.

Brooke suddenly stopped.  There was a stillness about her that unnerved Sam as she watched Brooke turn to face her.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me honestly.  Got it?”  Everything about Brooke’s demeanor screamed that there would be dire consequences for an improper response to the question.

“Of course.  Brooke what is this?  What is going on?”  Sam was frantically trying to figure out what Brooke was obviously so upset about.

“Did you really meet Carmen this morning?”

“Yes.  We met at that café like I told you.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Sam,” Brooke harshed, her voice low.

“I’m not!  Brooke, what is your problem?”

“Sam, I saw you.  I saw you leave with some little blonde slut.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.  Oh.”

“Well, I can explain that,” Sam said, reasonably.  “Carmen was there and then she left.  She’s a friend of Carmen’s,” Sam started to smile as she got excited about the events that occurred earlier, and that enraged Brooke even further.  “Carmen introduced us and-“

“So Carmen is your pimp now?”

Sam’s smile immediately turned into a frown, her brain catching up and recalling Brooke’s use of the word slut to describe Sandy.  She suddenly understood what Brooke was implying, and she was pissed.  “Brooke!  Shut up!  Listen to me.  You’re jumping to conclusions-“

 “I didn’t have to jump, Sam!  I took a step and a conclusion slapped me in the face!”  Brooke was apoplectic.

“Brooke, honey, I think maybe you’re a little emotional right now-“

“Don’t, Sam.  Don’t fucking honey me and don’t even try to pin this on my emotional pregnant state.  I know what I saw.”

“Well, what the hell did you see?” Sam was completely exasperated.  “Me in a public place with a woman who was not Carmen?  And now you’re ready to crucify me?  I honestly don’t know what you’re even thinking, but if you’re insinuating that something inappropriate went on, then you are sadly mistaken. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?  I don’t know what you think you saw, but whatever it is, you’re interpreting it totally the wrong way.  Now if you’ll just calm down and let me explain, you’ll see that it’s all just a misunderstanding, and hilarity is about to ensue.”

“Since when do I need an interpretation for what I can plainly see with my two correctly functioning eyes,” Brooke said coldly.

Brooke’s frigid reply brought Sam up short.  She had never heard this tone coming from Brooke before, and she was starting to worry that she wouldn’t be able to get through to her.  And then things got worse.

“I want you to leave, Sam.”

“You want me to-“ Sam was nonplussed.  “Like for an hour?  Or something?”

“I want you to take your shit and get out.  Can I be any clearer?”  Brooke’s words echoed with the sound of cracks widening on a frozen lake.

And then, stupidly, Sam laughed in Brooke’s face, a short sharp bark that was anything but amused.  “Hell, no.  I’m not going anywhere.  I’m staying right here and you’re going to listen to me.”

“Fine.  You won’t leave?  Then I will.”  Brooke scooped up Sam’s car keys from the coffee table and walked out the front door, leaving an utterly baffled Sam in her wake for the second time that day.

Part 6

“Brooke, turn on your stupid phone and call me back, dammit.  We have to talk, so call me and tell me where you are.” Sam left a frustrated message on Brooke’s voicemail, after Brooke hung up on her the first time, realizing that Brooke would turn her phone back on only when she was good and ready.

She had spent twenty minutes looking for Brook’s car keys, only to find them on the “Welcome Friends” key rack next to the door that led to the garage, where Brooke had always admonished her to put her own keys.  Now she was headed back downtown, figuring Brooke might go back to the office to talk to Nic.  She called the switchboard at Julian and asked to be put through to Nic.  “Nic, it’s Sam,” she said, when Nic answered.

“What’s up, Sam?  Did you catch up with Brooke?”

“Caught up with her, and then lost her again.”

“You’re not too good at this, are you?” Nic commented flippantly.

Sam rolled her eyes; she didn’t really want to be talking to Nic about any of this.  “Look, if she comes back to the office will you call me on my cell, please?  I really need to speak to her.”

Nic must have picked up on the desperation in Sam’s voice because she answered seriously.  “You know I will, Sam.”

“Thanks, Nic, bye.”  Sam ended the call but didn’t put down the phone.  She tried to think of other places where Brooke might go.  The beach?  Maybe.  Their parents’ house?  Worth a try.  She rapidly dialed the familiar digits, and was relieved to hear her mother pick up after the second ring.

“Mom.”

“Oh, hi, honey,” her mother greeted.  “Do you know anything about sewing machines?  I can’t get this stupid-“

“Mom, by any chance, has Brooke shown up there?” Sam interrupted.

“Brooke?  No, Sam.  We’re not expecting her.  Why would she?”

“It’s just that-“ Sam sighed; she had to come clean.  “We had a fight.  Brooke took off and now I’m trying to find her.”

“What do you mean, took off?  Sam, what happened?” Jane asked, concerned.

“I honestly don’t know, Mom.  She kind of flipped out on me.  She accused me of some really terrible things that are absolutely not true.  And I’m getting worried.  So if she comes to you, will you call me right away?”

“Wait, hang on, Sam.  I hear a car, let me go to the window.”  Sam waited while her mother left the line for a moment.  “It’s your car, Sam.  It must be Brooke.”

“Mom, do not let her leave,” Sam was adamant.  “Also, tell her to call Carmen.  Please.  If she doesn’t believe me, maybe she’ll believe her.  I’m on my way.”  Sam snapped her phone shut and made an extremely illegal u-turn, intent on breaking as many traffic statutes necessary to make it to Santa Monica as quickly as possible.

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

Brooke entered her childhood home through the kitchen door, and went directly up to the second floor, thinking that Jane would be doing one of her never-ending projects in her crafts room around this time of day.  On the drive over, Brooke’s anger had dissipated like a balloon with a slow leak, leaving only the withered sorrow that had encased it.  She realized that she had no proof for the accusations she had hurled at Sam, and she was filled with doubt and confusion.  What if all of this was a mistake?  She desperately wanted it to be a mistake.  But how would she be able to face Sam if it was?  The only thing she really knew at this point was that the expression on Sam’s face outside the café had immediately led her to the conclusion that Sam was cheating on her.

As Brooke walked down the hall, Jane came out of the room and saw her.  All of the emotions she had been trying to suppress surged to the surface at the look of concern Jane gave her, and Brooke couldn’t help but start to cry.  Jane folded her in her arms and led her into her project room, sitting her down on the daybed and pulling Brooke’s head onto her shoulder, offering soothing words as Brooke’s frame was wracked with sobs.

Jane did not want to be put in this position.  She had always known that there was a possibility of this happening, but after more than five years, she had thought it had become pretty remote.  She honestly couldn’t think of a more loving couple than Brooke and Sam.  But now here it was, something had happened and Jane was to be the arbiter between her daughter and the girl who was as much a daughter to her as either Sam or Mac.

“Brooke, can you tell me what’s wrong?” Jane asked delicately, after Brooke’s tears had subsided somewhat.

“Her face.  Sam’s face,” Brooke said helplessly.  “I’m sorry.  “I’m so sorry, Jane.  I don’t even know why I’m here.”

Jane frowned at the lack of sense Brooke was making, deciding to just wait until she was ready to talk.  In the few weeks it had been since Jane had seen Brooke, her face had filled out a little more and she was, even through her wretchedness, infused with the healthy vitality of mid-pregnancy.  It reminded Jane of her own pregnancies, and the upheaval the body goes through.

Brooke finally raised her eyes to Jane’s, having composed herself enough to start talking.  “I saw Sam with another woman today.”

Jane was shocked.  She didn’t want to think her daughter capable of something like this; she needed more information.  “What exactly did you see?”

“I saw them,” Brooke said resolutely.  “Sam and that woman.  They were walking.”

Jane was confused.  “That’s all that you saw?”

Brooke seemed to realize how flimsy it sounded.  “If you could have seen her face, Jane,” she insisted.  “I know that look on her face.”

“Okay,” Jane backed off.  “So what did Sam say?  Did she have an explanation?”

Brooke hung her head.  “I didn’t want to hear it.  I was scared.”

“Oh, honey, why were you scared?”  Jane’s heart went out to Brooke.  She thought she knew what had happened.

“Because I didn’t want her to tell me…” Brooke stopped, her throat closing up again.

“Brooke, this is Sam we’re talking about.  You two have been together for so long now.  Don’t you think she deserves to explain herself?”

Brooke just looked into Jane’s eyes as if she was trying to find the answer there.

“She’s on her way, you know, she called just before you got here,” Jane told her.  “She said that you should call Carmen and get the story from her.”

“Sam’s coming here?” Brooke cried, alarmed.  “I can’t see her yet, Jane.  I don’t know what to think.  I don’t know what to do.”

Jane handed her the cordless phone.  “If Sam wants you to talk to Carmen, why don’t you start with that?  Maybe you’ll find the answer you’re looking for, and you’ll feel better,” she said reasonably.  “It can’t hurt.”

Brooke took the phone, “Okay,” she said bemusedly.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”  She dialed information and got the number for Carmen’s law firm.  After enduring extremely annoying hold music for a while, she was finally told that Carmen wasn’t in the office; she would be in court until four.

“Do you happen to know which courtroom she’s in?” Brooke had the presence of mind to ask, looking at her watch.  After getting that information, she dropped the phone and stood up.  “I’ve got to go, Jane,” Brooke simultaneously wiped at her cheeks and took a deep breath.  She grabbed her stepmother by the shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.  “Thank you.  This has been so helpful.”

Jane thought that was a weird thing to say.  She didn’t think Brooke was thinking very clearly, still, but she didn’t think she could stop her from leaving.  “Brooke, be careful.  Do you want me to drive you?  I can do that, it’s not a problem.”

Brooke stopped.  Her eyes seemed to focus and she didn’t look as scattered.  “I’ll be fine, Jane.  I’m okay.  I’m hoping I made a big mistake, I just need to hear what Carmen says.”  And she turned and left the room.

Jane went to the window and watched Brooke walk to the car.  After Brooke calmly got in, fastening her seatbelt before sedately backing out of the drive, Jane felt a little better about allowing her to leave.

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

Sam was dismayed to see that her car wasn’t in the driveway when she arrived at what used to be her home.  She ran into the house calling for Brooke, her mother, anyone.  Seeing nobody downstairs, she took the steps two at a time and found her mother in the craft room, sitting before her sewing machine, but not doing any actual sewing.

“Mom, where did she go?” Sam asked breathlessly.

‘She went to find Carmen,” Jane reported.  “She couldn’t speak to her because she’s in court today.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” Sam replied.  “I knew that.”  She went over and sat down on the daybed, in almost the exact spot that Brooke had sat not fifteen minutes before.  Jane watched Sam wearily put her head in her hands.  Then she lifted her head.  “Is she okay?”

Jane got up and sat next to Sam.  “Yes, she will be.  She thinks you cheated on her.”

“Mom, I didn’t, I swear,” Sam said vehemently.  “It’s ludicrous.  There could never be anyone else for me.  It was a business meeting, for chrissake.”

“Sam, do you remember when I found out that I was pregnant with Mac?”

“Yeah.” Sam was thrown off by her mother’s non sequitur.

“Mike and I had separated and you and I were living in that dump that wasn’t much better than a no-tell motel.”

“And?” Sam was obviously waiting to hear what this had to do with her present situation.

“And I was a mess.  I was irrational, moody, couldn’t think straight.  My emotions were constantly in the red, hormones wildly pinging through my body.  I would swing from happy to sad, from despondent to elated, in a nanosecond.  Carrying a baby will do that to you.  You should remember, you had to live in a tiny, enclosed space with me.”

“I do remember,” Sam said, getting the point.

“Cut Brooke a little slack on this one, okay?”  Jane said gently, putting her hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam nodded.  “I thought maybe that had something to do with it.”   She looked absently around the room, wondering what she should do now. Should she follow Brooke to the courthouse or just go home and wait for her there?  She wished someone would tell her what to do.  Then her eyes fell on her mother’s sewing table.  She walked over and examined the bits of blue and pink gingham fabric and linen appliqués with farm animals on them.

Her mother stood behind her.  “It was supposed to be a surprise for the shower.  It will be a quilt for the baby if I can get it finished in time,” Jane said exasperatedly.  “Brooke will still be surprised.  She didn’t even notice it.”

Sam was touched by her mother’s gesture.  Neither she nor Brooke deserved such a wonderful mother.  She only hoped she could do as good a job with her own children.  “It’ll be beautiful, Mom.  Thanks.  For everything.”  She hugged her for a long time before leaving her mother to her project.

She went downstairs and stood in the kitchen, still indecisive about her next move.  She pulled out her cell and tried Brooke again.  Her phone was still turned off.

Just then the kitchen door opened, and Sam watched Mac stumble in, awkwardly carrying a large piece of posterboard in her arms.

“Hi Mac,” Sam greeted.

“Hey,” Mac replied, surprised.  “What are you doing here?”

“I just had to talk to Mom about something.”  Sam didn’t really want to go into everything with Mac.  “What have you got there?”

“Science Fair project,” Mac said proudly.  “I got an A.”

“You got an A out of Bio Glass?” Sam was impressed.

“Yep.”  Mac turned her project around so Sam could see it.  It was an in-depth report on Pediculosis Pubis, or Crabs, as it is more commonly known. It featured a large, and extremely unpleasant photo of the insect blown up under an electron microscope, as well as images of infestation and infected areas that were as disgusting and sensational as they were effective.  The glitter was a nice touch too.

“That is brilliant, Mac,” Sam said with admiration.

“Yeah, I knew that appealing to Glass’ unnatural obsession with STD’s would be the way to go.  She never had a chance,” Mac said smugly.  “I finally figured out that in order to survive Bio Glass, you have to think like Bio Glass.”

Sam laughed.  “You undoubtedly have the biggest brain in this family.  Why didn’t I ever think of that?”  It was nice to be distracted from her problem with Brooke even for a minute, it felt like she hadn’t laughed in years, although it had only been a few hours, she realized.

Sam took the poster board out of Mac’s hands.  “C’mere,” she said, and threw her arms around Mac, hugging her fiercely.  She needed all the hugs she could get today.

“What’s with you?” Mac asked, bewildered.

“Shut up.  I need a hug, and you’re the designated huggee.”

Mac allowed herself to be hugged, silently waiting for Sam to let go of her.  When Sam at last pulled away from her, Mac said, scathingly, “God, Heather, what’s your damage?”

Sam petulantly zinged back, “Heather, why can’t you just be a friend?  Why do you have to be such a mega-bitch?”

To which Mac frostily replied, “Because I can be.” 

The two sisters giggled at each other, amused by the most inane things.  Sam knew she shouldn’t indulge Mac’s unhealthy addiction to the quintessential teen movies of the eighties, but sometimes she just couldn’t help herself.

“Sit down, Mac,” Sam led her over to the kitchen table and sat, “I want to tell you something.”

Mac sat down and looked at Sam, suspicion written on her face.

“Relax, it’s good news,” Sam assured her.  “Annabella’s getting published.”

“No shit.  Really?” Mac sat up straight in surprise.  “Wow.  That took a long time.  You borrowed my scrapbook, what, like three years ago?”

“Yeah.  Don’t worry; I’m not that slow a writer.  The manuscript didn’t take long at all, it was getting it seen by the right people that took ages.”

“Cool.  So what did Brooke say?  Was she surprised?  It was kind of hard not telling her about it in the beginning, but then I just kind of forgot about it.”

Sam sobered.  “Brooke doesn’t know yet.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Mac was incredulous.

“Not yet,” Sam smiled sadly.  “You’re the first to know.”

“That’s great, Sam!” Mac was getting excited.  “So are you going to dedicate it to me?  And what about my cut?”

“Your cut?” Sam repeated.

“Yeah.  If it weren’t for me, you never would have made her up.  Doesn’t that entitle me to something?”

“A punch on the nose, maybe,” Sam said, grinning.  She had always dreamed that if Annabella ever got published, she would do something nice for Mac, some grand gesture of gratitude.  Mac was right; Annabella existed because of her.  Now that it was going to be a reality, Sam had to think just what that gesture might be.  But she wouldn’t be coming up with any great ideas today, she thought.  “Okay, Macky, I’ve got to get out of here,” Sam stood up.

“Hey, can you give me a ride down to the beach?  I’m meeting Richie.”

“What, no homework?”

“C’mon, Sam, don’t be lame.  I’ll do it later.”

“I’m not the boss of you, go check with Mom.  She’s upstairs.”

After Jane’s permission had been secured, Sam and Mac drove out to the beach, Mac having to endure Sam’s good-natured ribbing about Mac and Richie sitting in a tree.  Mac’s flushed cheeks told Sam that her gentle teasing was probably founded in truth, but Mac was not ready to talk yet, it appeared.  Sam couldn’t wait to tell Brooke about this latest development, that is, if Brooke was speaking to her at all, she thought grimly.

When they reached the beach, Mac turned to her.  “Congratulations, Sam.  That’s really awesome.  And thanks for the ride.”

“No problem, kid,” Sam said affectionately.

“Tell Brooke I said hi,” Mac added.  Then, just before getting out of the car, she looked soberly at Sam and said in her best, most drama-laden, Ralph Macchio-esque delivery, “Stay gold, Ponyboy, stay gold.”

She was gone before Sam had a chance to respond.  Sam chuckled and shook her head, but then got serious, turning her car towards the freeway and back to downtown, deciding to find Carmen, which would hopefully lead her to Brooke.

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

Brooke tiptoed into the hushed room where a nervous man in a red tie was giving testimony, and was surprised to see that it didn’t really look the way courtrooms look on TV.  She let the door swing shut behind her, unknowingly letting it slam loudly in its frame, nearly waking up the one or two jurors who were using their civic duty to catch up on their sleep.  Unfortunately, every other head in the place swung around to look at her, causing her to blush from her neck right up to the roots of her blonde hair.

She spotted Carmen, who, being the lowest member on her legal totem pole, sat on the extreme left side of the defense table, and saw that her redheaded friend was looking back at her with concern and surprise.  Brooke quickly sat down in the spectator’s section, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, intent on waiting for a recess or something so she could talk to Carmen.

She craned her neck to get a look at Carmen again, utterly disinterested in the proceedings and the now sweating man in the red tie, and saw her whispering to the colleague sitting next to her.  Then Carmen got up and walked through the little swinging gate that separated the spectators from the real action and motioned to her with a little jerk of her head to follow.

Once they were out in the crowded and noisy hallway, Carmen turned to Brooke.  “What are you doing here, Brooke?  Not that I don’t like seeing you, but I doubt you have an interest in our client and his recent troubles with the IRS.  What’s going on?”

“Carmen, I’m so sorry to bother you while you’re working,” Brooke said humbly, feeling like a complete ass.  “Is there somewhere we can go and talk, just for a minute?”

“Um, not really,” Carmen studied Brooke for a moment, and seemed to realize that all was not well.  “Wait, come on.”  She took Brooke’s arm and led her down the hall to the women’s restroom.

A moment later they were in the relative quiet of the bathroom, which was strangely empty for a building with so many people coming and going.  “It’s not the Novak, but it’ll do in a pinch,” Carmen joked, leaning against one of the sinks and looking at Brooke expectantly.

“I just need to ask you, Carmen, what you were doing around nine o’clock this morning,” Brooke asked, her voice high and tight.

“Wow.” Carmen laughed.  “I’m the one that usually asks these kind of questions.”  Then she looked at Brooke and saw that she was deadly serious, and anxiously waiting for her answer.  She noticed that Brooke looked the worse for wear actually; as if she had been crying recently.  “I was with Sam this morning, Brooke.  We met for coffee before I came here.”

“Yes, that’s what Sam told me.  The thing is,” Brooke held her gaze steadily, “I saw her leaving with a blonde woman, and I didn’t see you anywhere.”

Carmen’s expression grew uncomfortable, and Brooke’s heart sank.  “Brooke, I really think you should be talking to Sam about this.”

Brooke gripped Carmen’s forearm.  “Please, Carmen, who is she?”

Carmen was disconcerted by the intensity of Brooke’s distress.  The poor woman was obviously thinking Sam was up to something sneaky, when that was the furthest thing from the truth.  She didn’t want to be the one to spoil the surprise but she didn’t think Brooke would let her leave the bathroom unless she told her what she knew.

“She’s a friend of mine from college.  She’s a literary agent specializing in children’s publishing, and I passed along Sam’s manuscript to her about a month ago,” Carmen disclosed.

“Sam’s manuscript?” Brooke was visibly confused.

“Sam wrote a book about a character she invented for Mac,” Carmen began.

“Annabella,” Brooke interrupted, wonderingly.

“Right,” Carmen nodded.  “Apparently, she got the idea when she heard that her mother had sent photocopies of her letters to a friend of hers in publishing, but nothing had ever come of that.  So she wrote the book and sent out cover letters and the first chapter all over the place but didn’t get any response.

“Until just recently, only Sam and Mac knew that she was trying to get the thing published.  Then, last month, we were all supposed to meet for drinks, but you had bailed because you were tired, and Lily’s son got sick, so it just ended up being Sam and me.  Remember?”

Carmen watched Brooke nod.  She had a grim look on her face.

“So Sam had just gotten her, like, fiftieth rejection letter, and she was pretty bummed, and it didn’t take much for her to spill the whole story.  I told her I knew someone in publishing, and I could introduce her if she wanted.  And that’s what happened this morning,” Carmen concluded.

Brooke just stood before her, taking all the information in.  Then she pressed her palms to her forehead and shook her head wearily.  “God, Carmen, I am such a moron.  I don’t even want to tell you what I thought.  Why didn’t she tell me?” she asked plaintively.

“I got the feeling that she wanted it to be a surprise,” Carmen said.

“I hate surprises,” Brooke declared.  “At least I do now.”

Carmen chuckled.  “Now I’m dying to know how the meeting went.”

“Carmen, thank you.  You don’t know how relieved I am.  Now I just have to apologize to Sam about six million times.  We had an argument and I said some horrible things.” Brooke said shamefacedly, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Hey, it’s okay.  Sam’ll understand, you guys can make it up.  It was all just a misunderstanding.” Carmen tried to say something that would lessen Brooke’s clearly evident distress.

Brooke collected herself, and washed her face and hands.  She knew she had to face Sam; she just wasn’t relishing the task.  She was so ashamed and embarrassed, and knew she had some serious groveling to do.  But now, she had taken up too much of Carmen’s time.  She tried to smile.  “Carmen you should get back into that courtroom, they probably need your help.  He looks innocent to me.”

“Thanks Brooke,” Carmen laughed.  “I wish you were on the jury.”

The two of them left the bathroom and Carmen walked with Brooke as far as the door to the courtroom.  Before quietly closing the door behind her, Carmen said, “Everything will be fine.  Just talk to Sam.”

Brooke nodded, praying that Carmen was right.

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

Sam screeched to a halt in front of the courthouse, immediately reaching for the glove compartment to retrieve the press credentials that would enable her to avoid being ticketed and/or towed before realizing that her press pass was in her car, the one that Brooke was currently driving.  Oh well, she sighed, she would just have to hope that the meter maids were on a break, and put the matter out of her mind.  The traffic had been heavy on the freeway, and it was just going on four o’clock, she doubted whether Carmen or Brooke would still be around, but she was here, so she would try.

As she started up the broad steps that led into the courthouse, she heard her name being called.  She looked up to see Carmen, breaking away from a group of easily identifiable fellow attorneys standing a short distance away and coming over to her.

“Sam, Brooke was here earlier.” Carmen reported without preamble.

“She’s gone?” Sam was disappointed that she had missed her yet again.

“She left about twenty minutes ago.” Carmen said, then hesitated.  Sam waited, steeling herself for bad news.  “I had to tell her about the book.”

Relief washed over Sam.  Was that all?  “Carmen if I had today to live all over again, the first words out of my mouth when I woke up this morning would be, ’Brooke, I wrote a book and I have a meeting with someone about it today.’  Talk about one of the all time backfiring good ideas.”

“I think Brooke would like to live this day over again, too,” Carmen said kindly.  “She was going home when she left here.”

“Thanks, Carm.”

“So not to be indecorous or anything, but how did it go with Sandy?” Carmen asked curiously.

“It went so well,” Sam smiled.  “She thinks it’s going to be big.  I honestly will never be able to thank you enough.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of a few ways you can thank me,” Carmen said cheekily.  “And if pot roast is involved, there must be a restaurant involved as well.”

“Suit yourself,” Sam replied.  “But you don’t know what you’re missing.  My pot roast is like buttah.”

“Go home, Sam, tell Brooke all about it.  It looks like you’ve both been through the wringer today.”

“All I know is, it takes a special woman to have made me feel this miserable,” Sam declared.  She looked down the street and saw the ominous little vehicle that held one merciless meter maid approaching.  “Gotta go, Carm, thanks for everything.”  She gave Carmen a quick hug and scampered back down to Brooke’s car.

She thought maybe her luck was changing as she narrowly escaped a ticket, and headed for home.

Part 7

This section contains homages to the songs  “Being Alive” by Stephen Sondheim, and “Emaline,” by Ben Folds Five.

~~~~~

Sam quietly entered the house and began searching, a little bit nervous about what she might find.  What she did find was Brooke in their bedroom, sitting on the floor with her back against the open closet door, holding a blue Adidas shoebox in her lap as she silently examined one of the many postcards Sam had sent to her when she had been off traveling, seeing the world.  Sam remembered how Brooke had carefully removed the postcards from her refrigerator door in the apartment in New York and stowed them in the shoebox in preparation for their move cross-country years before.

“Whatcha doing?” Sam ventured.

Brooke held up a postcard that showed an aerial view of the Champs Elysees.  “Paris.  I’ve always wanted to go,” she said, not looking up.

“Then we’ll go,” Sam said, moving closer.

“Did you like it?”

“Not really.  I couldn’t afford to stay in Paris itself, the youth hostels were all full, so I stayed in a dump out in Rouen and used my railpass to go into the city every day.  I was by myself most of the time, and lonely, but I was determined to see all the museums and stuff.  I lived on baguettes and nutella, never got to try the local cuisine.  I still can’t eat that hazelnut stuff.  It’s gross.  And then there was that foreign language thing.”

“I’m sorry, Sam.” Brooke was still looking at the postcard, but Sam knew she wasn’t referring to her miserable time in France.

“I know,” Sam replied softly.  She sat down on the floor in front of Brooke, placing her hands on Brooke’s knees.  “What are you doing, looking at these old things, anyway?”

Brooke looked up from the box of postcards and gazed at Sam.  The skin around her eyes was puffy and had that tell-tale translucency that meant she had been crying, and Sam caught her breath as she felt the pain of sympathy tear through her.

Brooke didn’t answer her question, but looked towards the window and began speaking.  “Do you remember back when we lived in New York, the evening we went to Aquagrill on Spring Street?  Somebody you worked with told you about it, and you wanted to try the warm octopus salad.  I was meeting you there and I was late, as usual.  After I came up from the subway, I called your cell phone and told you where I was, just a few blocks away, and that I would be there in a few minutes.  You said not to worry, you were sitting at the bar and had ordered me a drink, you would be waiting.

“I remember so clearly walking along Spring, trying not to linger too long in front of any of the shop windows, when I looked ahead and saw you running toward me from two or three blocks away.  Your eyes were searching the street for me, and I stopped walking and was suddenly very afraid.  It felt like a large, cold hand was gripping my heart.  I didn’t know what could have happened in the two minutes that had elapsed since I had spoken to you.

“So I started to run, and my movement attracted your attention, and when you saw me, the expression on your face was transformed.  We were running toward each other, and as we got closer, I could see that you were smiling the biggest smile I had ever seen.  It made your eyes crinkle, and it was like a klieg light was shining in your face, you were so radiant.  There was an aspect of elation written so plainly on your features, it almost hurt to look at you.  It was the true you; I felt like you were showing your soul.  And you were looking at me,” Brooke said, like she couldn’t quite believe it.  “I was the one you had chosen to direct your gaze upon.”

Sam remembered the day vividly.  She remembered how close she had felt to Brooke that day and tried to scoot closer to Brooke now but their legs were in the way.

“You were breathing heavily when we stood before each other,” Brooke continued.  “I asked you what was the matter, and you got a little embarrassed when you confessed that you couldn’t wait to see me, that the few minutes it would take for me to walk up the street were too unbearably long and you had to do something about it.  You looked so beautiful.  The light in your eyes was incandescent; at that moment the only two things that mattered in the whole world were you and me.

“Then it started to rain, in a way that it never seems to here.  Do you remember?  One of those late spring afternoon showers that sometimes happen in New York when the sun is still shining and the rain spills from the sky for only a few minutes.  Drops the size of half-dollars darkened your shirt, and you turned us around and we hurried towards the restaurant, but we were getting drenched, so you pulled me into a doorway for a moment, and that look had reappeared on your face as you enveloped me in a kiss.  And in that kiss something happened that I still can’t really explain.  It felt as if we were two halves of something broken that had finally been put back together, like a couple of shards of a ceramic plate, the jagged edges measuring up and fitting together seamlessly.”

Brooke finally wrenched her gaze from the window and looked at Sam.  She leaned forward and put her hand on Sam’s cheek and smiled at the vividness of her memory.  For a few minutes it seemed as if Brooke had actually gone to that doorway on Spring Street, so completely did the story she was telling inhabit her, but Sam saw that she had returned to their bedroom, and had resumed the telling from the here and now. 

“You had left your jacket hanging on the back of the barstool, so I took off my coat and held it over both of our heads and we laughingly ran the rest of the way back to the restaurant, where our drinks were waiting for us at the bar.  You had only been gone a few minutes, about the same amount of time it took to make a phone call, and no one was the wiser as to what had just occurred.  I had lived a lifetime in those five minutes.  Those five minutes are burned on my brain.”

“I remember,” Sam said, placing her own hand over Brooke’s where it rested against her cheek, getting lost in Brooke’s gaze.  “I remember every second of it.”

“That expression on your face?  I don’t see it very often, but I treasure it whenever I do.”  Brooke’s smile became contemplative.  “I see it on special occasions, like when we held hands and stepped over the threshold of our house together after the closing, and on the day we found out I was pregnant, but sometimes it sneaks up on me when I least expect it, like on a random Sunday morning when I wake to find you looking at me, or when I paddle back to the lineup after an awesome wave and you’re sitting there on your board, impressed as hell with me.  I feel an overwhelming sense of pride in myself when you look at me like that.”

Then Brooke sighed.  “So when I saw that same expression on your face when you were with that woman, it felt like something precious had been stolen from me.  I thought that look on your face belonged only to me.  I may not be able to lay claim to any other part of you, but I thought that was mine.  But I don’t even own that.  I never wanted to capture you, or cage you, or keep you all to myself, I want you always to feel that you are free, but I can admit that I did want something of you that was mine alone.  It’s selfish, I know.  And it’s silly, too, wanting to possess the expression on someone’s face.  But it’s just so you, you know?” she finished helplessly.

Sam could only guess at how hard it had been for Brooke to say this to her, to prostrate herself, to lay herself bare, before her.  Maybe this could all be attributed to Brooke’s chaotic, pregnancy-besieged hormones, maybe not.  But Sam was not going to invalidate all that Brooke had said by casually pinning the blame there.  She may make her living with words, but she didn’t know how she was going to find the right ones to convey all that she needed to say.  “Brooke, whatever you see when I look at you like that is only an outward expression of what I feel for you inside.  I can’t help but light up like a Christmas tree when I’m around you because ever since the day we met my heart races, my blood boils, emotion courses through me and my thoughts knock around my head like a pinball machine.  That’s what I felt when I was sixteen, when I pretended to hate you, and that’s what I feel now, when I love you more than myself.   And that is never going to change.

“You are the one that I need.  I need to share my life with you.  You’re the one who knows me too well, the one who gives me support, and consistency, and constancy.  You know what I need before I do.  You make me aware of life happening around me, within me. And you’re also the one who, occasionally, puts me through hell, which is good, and necessary, because it just crystallizes everything else that you are to me.  And I want to be that for you.  I hope that I am.  I want to crowd you with love and be all the things that you are to me.

“I want to be possessed by you.  What I feel when I’m with you is the antithesis of feeling caged or captured.  It’s only in knowing that we’re together that I can feel free.  So you can lay claim to every part of me, because you know what?  Without you, there is no me.  It’s as simple as that.  I would feel free with you even if I was, like, physically chained to your side.  Like I was chattel or something.  I wouldn’t mind being your chattel.”  Sam raised an eyebrow at Brooke.  “Does that sound as weird and twisted as I think it does?”

Brooke laughed, it was either that or cry, and she had done enough of that already today.  “Yes.  But oddly enough, I understand.  I wouldn’t mind being your chattel, either.”

Brooke’s laughter was just about the sweetest sound Sam could hear.  She moved around so that she was sitting next to Brooke against the closet door, bumping against her with her hip to get her to move over.  She laid her head on Brooke’s shoulder, and Brooke slung her arm around Sam.  It looked like things were going to be all right.  “You heard about the book?”

“Yes.  Congratulations.” Brooke nodded, laying a kiss on Sam’s head.

“That expression on my face you saw at the café?  That was me ecstatic at the prospect of being able to give you whatever the hell your heart desires, within reason.” Sam said.  “I think that you’ll at least be able to stay home with Junior if you want to. If what Sandy says is true.”

“Sam, you didn’t just do this for me, did you?”

“Well, literary vanity may have entered into it a little, and pure pigheadedness once all those doors started slamming obnoxiously in my face.  Actually, it never got to the obnoxious door slamming stage, but rejection letters don’t do much more than flutter around all judgmental and condescending, so that sounds better.

“But, yes, you were the main reason.  You and our family.”  Sam stretched her hand over Brooke’s belly.  “In my delusions of adequacy, I wanted to be able to carry my weight financially, to be the winner of the bread.  You know, money talks, and I hate to listen, but lately it’s been screaming in my ear.  And it was drowning out everything else. It kind of distracted me from what was more important:  taking care of you physically, and emotionally.  I’m sorry for that.”

“Never mind,” Brooke said.  “Tell me about how it happened.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.  But also if it didn’t work out you didn’t have to know about my failure,” Sam said wryly, then continued.  “When we started to get serious about having a kid, I started worrying about money and tried to think up ways to add to my income.  I remembered that mom had thought my Annabella letters were good enough to publish, so I thought that might be a good place to start.  I knew that no publisher would ever look at a bunch of letters, so I borrowed Mac’s scrapbook and reread what I had written, building a narrative around them.  That was the easy part.  A few years and approximately nine thousand rejections later, Carmen told me about her publishing connection after I complained to her about it one night.  Today I met Sandy, who thinks the story is pretty good, and now we shall see what we shall see.”

“You could have complained to me,” Brooke said gently.

“In hindsight, I so wish I had,” Sam replied ruefully.

“So her name is Sandy?”

“Yup.  Sandy Towers.”

Brooke snickered.  “Sounds like an apartment complex in Boca Raton.”

“I was thinking Miami Beach, but yeah,” Sam grinned.

They sat like that for a few minutes, just happy to have the drama of the day behind them.  Then Sam felt Brooke’s grip tighten around her shoulders.

“What?”

“I can’t believe I demanded that you move out,” Brooke admitted, her voice shot through with mortification.  “What if you just said, ‘okay,’ and packed up and left?”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Sam said lightly, although the memory of the argument frightened her.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” Brooke said again.

“It’s okay, Brooke, but please, we have to keep talking and listening to each other.  The fact that I love you will never be enough if we don’t do the maintenance on this relationship.”  Sam was deadly serious.

“I know,” Brooke was miserable.  “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I’ve already forgiven you.  But I do know how you can make it up to me,” Sam said, impishly.  She didn’t want to be serious anymore.  She finally wanted to begin celebrating her good fortune with Brooke.  “You can start by telling me all the many and varied things you love about me.”

Brooke felt a surge of happiness and relief at Sam’s easy forgiveness.  She felt like she had been buried in the sand up to the neck, trapped and immobilized by her suspicion and jealousy.  But Sam had dug down and found one of her hands and had pulled her free.  Brooke was going to see to it that this never happened again.  Her body felt light with the buoyancy of joy, and it put her in a playful mood.  “Okay, let’s see.  I love how you’re secretly scared to pick up the cats.”

“I am not!” Sam protested.  “Where are they, I’ll pick them up right now.”

“And I love how you get all flustered when you can’t parallel park correctly on the first try.”

“Who can get those angles right on the first try?” Sam asked reasonably.

“I love how the entire city of Los Angeles knows about it when you wake up with a Charley Horse, with your pitiful cries of agony, from which only I can save you.  And I love your stupid jokes about the neighbors, and your completely irrational hatred of cinnamon gum,” Brooke continued the list, not bothering to hide her merriment.

“Hey, wait a minute, I thought this was supposed to be a flattering portrait,” Sam objected.

“You wanted flattery?  That doesn’t come out until What I Love About Sam: Volume II.  Volume I is all about the unvarnished truth.” Brooke was really warming to her subject.  “I love how you can still barely contain yourself when you see your by-line, you get all fizzy, like you chugged a liter of Pepsi and chased it with three envelopes of Pop Rocks.”

“Well, it is a rush,” Sam admitted, now resigned to her fate.

“I love how there is a dictionary in our kitchen now because you have to look up the meaning and etymology of the word ‘Bouillabaisse.’”

“It’s French, in case you were wondering,” Sam interjected.  “I’m making it after the baby’s born.”

“I especially love how you talk too much when we’re knocking boots,” Brooke said facetiously.

“It just wouldn’t be the same without you telling me to shut up at least once when we’re doing it,” Sam returned, equally glib.

“And I love how you force me to watch all six hours of Pride and Prejudice at least once a year, and then get all weepy at the end, “ Brooke paused, finally running out of steam.

“Are you finished?” Sam asked with a grin.

“For now,” Brooke nodded.  “Until I think of some more.”

“I’m so sorry I asked.”

“I’m not,” Brooke pulled Sam to her and kissed her, trying to pour into it all the other things she loved about Sam, but were more difficult to put into words.  She wrapped her arms around Sam’s waist and slid her hands beneath the black silk shirt she wore.  She could feel Sam’s hands creep up her neck and twine themselves in her hair, as she fervently returned the kiss.

“Wow.  That was nice,” Sam said, when they separated.  “Maybe we should continue this in a new location.”  She gestured towards the bed.  At Brooke’s nod, she got up and pulled Brooke to her feet.  Sam kicked off her shoes and threw herself across the neatly made bed, lying on her side like she was a prize Brooke had won.  “Welcome to bed, may I take your order?” she asked cheekily.

Brooke laughed.  “You are such a ninny.”

“But you love this ninny,” Sam wiggled her eyebrows.

“Yes, I do, with all my heart,” Brooke said as she lay down next to Sam, and started to unbutton Sam’s shirt.  Sam reciprocated and soon had access to all of Brooke’s sensually pregnant body.  The room was quiet for several minutes as the two of them got lost in the distraction of each other’s flesh.  Then, inevitably:

“Seriously, Brooke, who says ‘knocking boots’ anymore?  That’s so early nineties.”

“Sam?”

“I know, I know.  This is the part when you tell me to shut it.”

“No,” Brooke corrected, planting her lips on Sam’s quickly before saying, “it’s the part when I tell you I love you.”

Epilogue

Sam pulled into the driveway, turning off the CD player in the car.  A high, slightly off-key voice could be heard from the back seat, singing into the abrupt silence, “Zachary Zugg took out the rug, and Jennifer Joy helped shake it…”

“We’re home, Lucy,” Sam smiled.

“What is it called, what I did today, Ma?” Lucy asked.

“A double.  You were able to run all the way to second base, remember?  Don’t forget to tell Mommy, she’ll be so excited to hear it.”  Sam helped Lucy out of the car, and carried her Whiffle Ball things into the house.  She still couldn’t believe that the new house was finished, even though they had moved in about six months before.  Driving home, she had to consciously remember where to turn the car in order to get here.

Nobes was waiting in the foyer when they came in, looking like an annoyed parent waiting to take a curfew-breaking child to task.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sam asked the cat.

“She missed me, Ma,” Lucy said, falling to her knees in front of the cat, and crooning, “Didn’t you, Nobesey, you missed me.”

Nobes stalked off, still in a snit about something.

“Brooke?” Sam called out, her voice reverberating through the house.

“Mommy?”  echoed Lucy.

No answer.  Sam walked into the kitchen, Lucy trailing behind her, looking for a note or something to explain Brooke’s absence.  Nothing on the refrigerator.  Sam looked out the windows absently, trying to recall if Brooke had told her where she was going.  Then she saw her.  The kitchen windows of their new Malibu home faced the beach and the ocean just beyond.  Sam could see a blonde figure out in the water, sitting upright, and straddling a surfboard.  The previous evening’s storm had left the usually placid ocean where they now lived a churning cauldron of white water and waves, which Brooke was now taking advantage of.

“Look, Lucy, there’s Mommy,” Sam pointed out towards the beach.

“Where?”  Lucy looked where Sam pointed but couldn’t see over the deck railing.  “I can’t see,” she whined, “pick me up.”

Sam obliged, staggering slightly, and carefully positioned Lucy’s leg so that it wouldn’t kick her slightly protruding belly.  She realized that in another couple of months she wouldn’t be able to pick up Lucy at all.  “See?  That’s her.  She’s going for a wave.  Look, she’s standing up.  Isn’t that cool?”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, with awe sounding in her voice.  “That’s Mommy?”

“Yep,” Sam said proudly.  “You want to go out there?”  She watched Lucy nod.  “Well go put your bathing suit on, and get your pail and shovel.”  She put her daughter down, and watched her run off towards her room.  Sam wouldn’t change out of her shorts and top, she wasn’t going in the water.

She wandered around the house, packing things into a white canvas beach bag to bring with them.  If they really needed anything they could just come back inside to fetch it, but old beach-going habits die hard, and Sam had yet to really comprehend that she now lived right on the beach.

Looking around the large living room as she made her way back to the kitchen, Sam was struck again by the sheer size and spaciousness of the place.  “The house that Annabella built,” as Brooke jokingly referred to it.  It was much too large for three people and two cats, but they knew that they would eventually fill it up.  There was room to grow here.

Sam turned when she heard the clunking of plastic on the hardwood floor, and Lucy re-entered the room, ready to hit the beach with her sand toys dragging behind her.  She was wearing a two-piece bathing suit; only the two pieces did not match.  The top was purple and blue striped, and the bottom was yellow and red polka dots.  Sam bit her cheek and tried not to laugh.  “I like your suit, Luce.  Did you do that on purpose?”

“No,” Lucy glowered scornfully.  “I couldn’t find the purple bottoms.”

“That’s okay,” Sam reassured her, “you look fine.”

“I know.”

Sam picked up the beach umbrella she had dragged out of the closet and said, “Well, let’s go, then.”

After Sam set up the umbrella and a blanket to sit on, they went down to the water’s edge and sent Brooke an ESP message to look at them.  After a few minutes, she did, and waved with her whole arm from where she sat out beyond where the waves were breaking.  Sam and Lucy waved back, but then Lucy wanted to get down to the serious business of play.

She laboriously carried a pail of water back up to near the blanket and set to work, wetting the sand and creating several round objects.  When Sam asked what they were, Lucy explained, “I’m making meatballs and pisgetti.” 

“I think you mean spaghetti,” Sam gently said, with amusement.

“No,” Lucy returned nonchalantly, “it’s pisgetti.”

“Okay,” Sam smiled.  Lucy should enjoy her creative spelling now; she wouldn’t get away with it when she started playing Scrabble.

Sam sat Indian style under the shade of the umbrella a short distance away from Lucy and watched her, happy that the girl could not only keep herself occupied when she was by herself, but that she also had no problems getting along with her fellow teammates on her Pee Wee Whiffle Ball team down at the Y.  She had felt a rush of pride and love this morning as she stood among all the dads and moms, and watched her daughter take the field.  Lucy had turned a spontaneous, and very poorly executed, cartwheel on the way out to Third Base.  Sam didn’t usually take Lucy to Whiffle Ball, as Brooke took over most of the weekend tasks since her time with Lucy was limited during the workweek.  But since she had hit her fifth month Sam was filled with an excess of energy in the mornings, so she volunteered to take Brooke’s place, and gave Brooke a rare lie-in today.

Brooke had left Julian Cosmetics after giving birth, and had happily taken up the mantle of full time stay-at-home mom.  For nearly three years, Brooke had stayed home with Lucy while Sam continued to juggle her journalism career with the Annabella books’ increasing demands.  Then it became obvious to Sam that because of her dual careers, she was missing key moments in Lucy’s life, so she gave up on journalism and committed to fiction completely.

Brooke’s replacement at Julian hadn’t worked out very well, and Nicole had begged Brooke to come back, in any capacity she chose.  Brooke agreed to return on the conditions of an abbreviated work schedule, and more flexible hours.  Sam thought Brooke was secretly thrilled with the prospect of getting back into the workforce, and although she knew Brooke felt guilty for spending time away from Lucy, she had admitted to Sam that she really didn’t miss Elmo and Snuffleupagus at all.  And so, not minding the denizens of Sesame Street so much, Sam had taken over as Lucy’s primary caregiver when Brooke went back to work.  But they shared in everything, and their parenting style was fluid and flexible, each of them taking up the slack or letting go the reins when the situation called for it, and it had worked pretty well thus far.

After the success of the second book and the subsequent sale of the movie rights, they had never needed to worry about money again.  Adults and children alike had embraced Annabella with a fervor not seen in children’s publishing since a certain wizard with a scar on his forehead.  Sam now had a large room that had a stunning view of the ocean where she wrote, and was currently working on the fourth book.  She wrote desultorily, usually in the mornings for several hours while Lucy was at preschool, but the rest of the day was devoted to her daughter’s care.  Sam figured the world could wait a while for the next installment.  Sam was excited for their next child to be born.  Brooke was going on leave from Julian again and they would have no responsibilities except to their family for a while.

Sam had been approached for an autograph at Lucy’s game today.  It was beginning to happen more and more lately, ever since the movie adaptation of the first book had come out, and she had done some publicity for it as a favor to the producers.  The book signings had gotten crazy enough.  She didn’t want to subject her family to that sort of intrusion on a regular basis, and was now debating the merits of becoming a literary recluse, in the style of J.D. Salinger.

“Ma?”  Lucy had abandoned her toys and now stood in front of Sam, who tore herself from her reflections and looked at her daughter in inquiry.  “Tell me a story?”  she entreated, and plopped down in the cradle created by Sam’s legs.

Sam reached over into the beach bag.  “I have Max and I have Eloise, who do you want?”  She asked, pulling out battered copies of Where the Wild Things Are and Eloise.

“No,” Lucy said.  “ I want The Two Princesses.”

“I want The Two Princesses, please,” Sam corrected.

“I want The Two Princesses, please,” Lucy dutifully repeated.

Sam looked at the little girl in exasperation.  “You don’t really want to hear that old story again, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” Lucy insisted.

“Well, I guess I could do that,” Sam considered.  “But it’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

“Five kisses,” Sam lowered her face so that Lucy could reach it, and together they counted out loud to five as the little girl smacked her lips against Sam’s cheek.

“Oh, I think I overcharged you, I’ll give you one kiss back as a refund,” Sam said, and closed her arms around Lucy and engulfed her in a hug, connecting with her cheek with what turned out to be more of an overly wet raspberry than a kiss.

“Eww, Ma,” Lucy complained, giggling, wiping her cheek with her hand, “you spit on me.”

“Quit complaining,” Sam replied.  “There are kids in China whose parents never spit on them at all.”

Sam maneuvered Lucy so that she reclined across her lap, with her head cradled in Sam’s arm, like she was an extremely large, four-year-old infant.  Sam noticed that her lap was becoming smaller, and soon Lucy would have to share her perch with Sam’s growing tummy.

“Once upon a time, there was a king who lived in a palace,” Sam began, “and he had no queen, but he did have a daughter, a fair princess, with pale skin and hair the color of the sun, who was very popular and well loved by all the king’s subjects.  And she loved her father, the king, very dearly, and for a long time they were happy in the palace.

“The king was a kind and benevolent ruler, and no one in his kingdom had any cause to complain, but he was lonely, and sometimes wished for the company of another.

“One day the king said, ‘I am going on a journey,’” Sam deepened her voice and spoke in a gruff approximation of the king’s voice, “and he left the care of the kingdom in his fair daughter’s capable hands. She immediately threw an unsanctioned festival that was the talk of the court for years to come, although she neglected to invite all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, and some people were pretty upset about it.  Anyway, the mead flowed like, well, mead, and the revelry lasted for several days.  The court jester sang every madrigal he knew twice, and people’s feet were really sore from dancing the minuet, which was the princess’s favorite thing to do.

“When the king returned from his journey and found the princess and his subjects had been making merry with wine, women and song and had neglected their daily responsibilities, he was very displeased, but he couldn’t be angry for very long because he wanted to introduce his fair daughter to someone.

“While he had been away, the king had found a cure for his loneliness in the form of a beautiful queen from a neighboring kingdom, who, conveniently, was without a king.  The king and queen had decided to join their two kingdoms and live together and rule in all their infinite wisdom from the palace.  Complicating matters somewhat was the presence of the queen’s daughter, a princess also with pale skin but with hair the color of midnight.  She was as darkly beautiful as the fair princess was fair.”

Lucy reached up and took hold of a lock of Sam’s hair, examining its dark color, so unlike her cap of sandy blonde curls.

“The palace was more than large enough to accommodate the newly formed royal family, but it seemed that it was not big enough for both of the princesses.  They bickered and quarreled and complained about one another, and argued about everything from who got the big turkey leg at dinner to who slept in the largest bedchamber with all the best tapestries in the west tower.  To say that they did not get along was like saying that Merlin knew a few card tricks.

“After awhile it became obvious that although the two princesses had no problems associating with anyone else, be they members of court or the lowliest of peasants, they just could not get along with each other.  This saddened their parents, the king and queen, who had successfully joined two very different kingdoms without too many skirmishes breaking out, that they could not accomplish the much smaller task of getting their daughters to live harmoniously.  Plus, it made living in the palace not so pleasant, what with all the shouting and broken crockery.”

“What’s crockery?” Lucy interrupted.

“It’s another word for dishes,” Sam replied.

“Oh,” Lucy said.  Sam could see that her eyelids were getting heavy, Whiffle Ball always made Lucy very tired.

“So, after a time, the two princesses had gotten older, and they left the comfort and familiarity of the palace, separately setting out to seek their fortunes, and glad to be away from each other at last.

“The queen’s daughter, the darkly beautiful princess, traveled the world in search of adventure, visiting exotic lands where the air was filled with spices and danger lurked around every corner.  The thrilling escapades that she seemed to fall into at every turn were very exciting at first, and she enjoyed living by her wits and outsmarting all the villains and foes that crossed her path.  She kept company with a merry band of outlaws and brigands, inevitably becoming the ringleader in all of their outlandish quests for glory.  But she eventually found that slaying one dragon was much like slaying them all, and a life spent encountering peril at every turn proved very tiresome, and not all that it was cracked up to be.  And to her surprise and disbelief, she found herself missing the face of the fair princess, who was the only person who challenged her, and made her think about all sorts of interesting things.”

“For her part, the striking flaxen-haired princess had taken residence in a bustling city far away from her father’s kingdom, and devoted herself to the study of trade and commerce, as well as an unofficial course in human nature.  She read all the books in the land, and studied with the most respected and learned professors, and became very wise in the ways of how the world worked.  Because of her ability to couch her opinions in both flattering and diplomatic terms, and her sweet and delicate nature, that masked an iron will and a steely determination, she became known throughout the town for her sage advice on all kinds of matters.  But she too, found herself thinking about the princess with the raven colored hair, and how much she admired her for her bravery and fearlessness, and how her displays of cunning and character had secretly delighted the fair princess.”

Sam saw Brooke walking up the beach towards them, her head lowered and her board under her arm.

“One day, the dark princess’s travels took her to the city where the fair princess lived, and the dark princess heard tell of a creature of astounding intelligence, astuteness and beauty wherever she went in the town.  She thought that perhaps this mysterious woman might help her with her problem, so she sought an audience with her, intent on asking what the woman thought she should do, now that her life of adventure was not as satisfying as it had once been.”

Brooke put her board down by the blanket, and then collected Lucy’s sand toys, piling them up next to her board.  She sat down next to Sam, who shivered slightly from the contact of Brooke’s cool, wet arm against her sun-heated skin.

“Hey,” Brooke said, and gave Sam a kiss.  “Not The Two Princesses again?”

“Hi,” Sam replied, nodding.

“Hi Mommy,” Lucy bleated.

“Hi Baby,” Brooke replied, leaning down and kissing Lucy on the forehead.  “Are you having fun?”

“Yes, Ma’s telling me a story.”

“So I gather,” Brooke said, then turned her attention to Sam.  “Thanks for being the Lucy wrangler this morning.  How are you feeling?”

“Fine.  Thought I’d stay out of the sun, though, for Junior’s sake,” she indicated her belly.  “How was it out there?  Did you have fun hanging ten, Gidg?”

“I sure did, it was-” Brooke began, only to be interrupted by Lucy.

“STORY!”

“Shh, Lulu.  Remember we talked about patience?” Sam admonished quietly.

Lucy’s expression was about as apologetic as a willful four-year-old could make it.

“No, that’s okay, I think you were just getting to the good part,” Brooke put in.  She linked her arm with Sam’s and looked out to the ocean, prepared to listen.

“All right,” Sam said.  “Now, where was I?”  She thought for a moment before continuing.  “Both princesses were flabbergasted to see each other again, after such a long time, and spent quite a while catching up on what the other had been doing since they had left the friendly kingdom where their parents lived.  Stories were traded, and gossip was shared, and they howled with laughter far into the night.  They grew nostalgic over the time they lived together in the palace, and didn’t seem to remember all the times they had been mean to each other, or the times they had spoken ill of each other.

“The pair became inseparable; they were the toast of the town and their presence as guests was demanded at the swankiest of events.  A banquet with the guaranteed attendance of the dark princess, with her ribald storytelling, and the fair princess, and her insouciant wit and wisdom, was a banquet that was an assured success.”

Sam saw Brooke smirk at this.  The truth was that it had been quite a while since the two of them had been to an event that could be called swanky, unless you counted the Julian company picnic, which Sam didn’t.   

“After several months had passed,” she continued, “the darkly beautiful princess came to see the beautifully fair princess in her chamber, a troubled look on her face. ‘My dearest friend,’ the dark princess said, ‘all those months ago, I came to you with a question, and you have never answered me.  I am here to ask you again.  What should I do with my life, now that slaying dragons and ogres and trolls has lost its appeal?’

“The fair princess had smiled at seeing her friend again, but her smile faded when she heard the question.  She hoped that the dark princess was not getting restless, and preparing to leave the city.

“The dark princess saw the dismay on the fair princess’s face, and was loathe to cause her any pain, so she rushed to fill the silence.  ‘Because replacing the charred clothing that dragon slaying inevitably leads to is a real nuisance, and it is nearly impossible to find a dry cleaner who can get ogre guts out of chain mail these days.’

“The fair princess crossed her chamber and stood before the dark princess.  She hushed the prattling girl with a kiss.  ‘You should stay with me,’ she said.  ‘Let us marry our fortunes together, and I will stand beside you, and share in your joys and your sorrows, and come to your aid with love and comfort when you are in need, and you can stand beside me and do the same.’”

This was the part where Sam could usually expect a quiet sniffle coming from Brooke’s direction, and she wasn’t disappointed today.   She looked into Brooke’s teary eyes and smiled, and Brooke smiled back ruefully at her predictability, and leaned her head against Sam’s.  They both looked down at Lucy and saw that the girl had fallen asleep.  Sam didn’t think their daughter had ever been awake for the end of the tale, and wondered what that said about her storytelling ability.

“Go ahead and finish, I’m still listening,” Brooke murmured, as she usually did, smoothing her hand over Lucy’s curls.

“Well,” Sam said, looking directly at Brooke as she told the rest of the story, “the dark princess really liked the sound of that, and quite honestly, had been hoping that the fair princess would say something along those lines.  From that day on, the two princesses were joined in love and peace.  They returned to their parents’ kingdom and were welcomed as conquering heroes.  The king and queen rejoiced to see that they had overcome their differences and would live in harmony after all this time.

“The two princesses built a palace for themselves, not far from the king and queen, and soon had a beautiful little princess of their own, and a handsome little prince on the way.”

Brooke gasped, and turned to look at Sam in astonishment.  Sam nodded, her eyes dancing, she had heard from the doctor yesterday, but hadn’t had a chance to tell Brooke that their next child would be a boy.  Brooke crushed Sam into a hug, jostling Lucy and causing her to moan fitfully.  Sam picked up Brooke’s hand and kissed it, and held it while she told the last little bit of the tale.

“They settled into their lives, spending their days in a mostly quiet and unexciting style, but that was the way they liked it.  They had their good days and they had their bad days, and they had their ups and they had their downs, but mostly they had ups.”

Sam paused before saying the inevitable last line of the story, the line used to end fairy tales since fairy tales had been invented.  She looked around her, at the ocean in front of her, and the sun and sky overhead.  She looked at Lucy, and felt an overwhelming love for her baby girl rise up in her.  And she turned and gazed at Brooke, the woman who was her heart and her soul, and who had made her happy for so many years.  With all the good fortune that had come their way, they were as content as two people had a right to be.  Brooke was watching her with an expectant expression, her dear familiar face as beautiful now as it had been when she was a teenager, when Sam had fallen in love with her.  And then the years they were apart only made their coming together all the more sweet.  Now Brooke was waiting for that last line that meant the story was over.  But their story was not over yet.  If the fates allowed, they would have many years of happiness ahead of them.  Sam was not superstitious by nature, but she wondered why life had treated them so kindly.  She wasn’t going to question it, she just wanted to take a moment and be grateful.  They had been lucky so far.  She decided not to tempt the fates.

“And they lived hopefully ever after.  The end.”

I'm so glad that you finally made it here
With the things you know now, that only time could tell
Looking back, seeing far, landing right where we are
And oh, you're aging, oh, and I am aging, oh, aren't we aging well?

- Dar Williams, “You’re Aging Well”