Erica’s Mom has - Another Secret

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Diane McPherson sat at her dining room table. In front of her lay a photo album. She was thumbing through it when her daughter knocked on the front door. She quickly closed the book, paying particular attention that no photos were left showing. As Erica entered the room, Diane looked up and said,

"Oh hi, honey, I’m glad you could make it. How are you, sweetheart?" She asked as she rose to give her daughter a hug.

"Pretty good, Mommy, but a little tired after yesterday. She and her mother spent the afternoon with Mark’s mom, Marie, looking at the wedding photos. You may recall that Erica had served as matron-of-honor for Marie’s daughter Maired. You may also recall that Maired is actually Marie’s son, Mark, brother to his deceased twin Maura and husband of Erica.

Confused? I’m just getting started. The photo session was also attended by Gina, Erica’s best friend, along with Gina’s mother Betty. Betty took the photos, having run a camera store for years, with her deceased husband Johnny. Rounding out the wedding party was Katie, Gina’s and Erica’s new friend, who also happened to be Gina’s husband Ben. Getting this all down? Here’s where it really gets interesting.

 

"Mommy, you were so kind to come on such short notice. I know it’s hard for you to break away from your shop, and Marie was so glad you could make it." What made the whole day special was that, apart from the completely understandable confusion the day brought, it was a gift to Marie, who had held a disappointment in her heart for years, since she would never be the mother of the bride. In a way, she was, just not in the way most people expect or understand. Maired stood in for her sister Maura, but only by proxy, as she felt that no one could take her sister’s place.

By now, Erica had gotten used to the different personae that her husband had adopted, and even encouraged it from time to time. She loved Mark more than anything in the world, and she had grown fond of his alter-ego. What she couldn’t figure out was how easily her mother accepted the news that her son-in-law also was a de facto daughter-in-law. By now this author would be confused as well, had she not taken notes.

"Mommy," Erica said, her voice betraying her curiosity. Her mother had anticipated this conversation.

"You want to know why Maired didn’t surprise me. Oh, I was a little surprised; who wouldn’t be? But your mother’s been "around the block," as my dad used to say." As she spoke, she opened the photo album once again and pointed to the picture in the middle of the page. Two young ladies, twenty-ish, sat on a park bench on the Boardwalk at Atlantic City.

They were smiling, although the dark-haired girl seemed much more confident than the blond sitting beside her.

"Apart from Mark’s mother, this girl was my best friend in high school. She was such a fun girl to be with, and she was as loyal and true a friend as anyone could ask for."

"She looks familiar, Mommy. Do I know her?"

"She came to my wedding. She was with me when you were born, but I don’t think you’d remember her. She looked at you and asked God for a blessing; that you would be safe and happy and filled with joy. I think her prayer was answered,
don’t you?"

"Of course, Mommy, of course!" Erica never grew tired of calling her mother "Mommy." Her dad had "gone to war," as they used to say, and had never returned. She was almost ten at the time, and remembered hugging her mom tightly as his bus pulled away. His death was heroic but ironic. He died in the first Gulf War, only a few days after the cease fire.

Love for her husband and God overwhelmed and destroyed any root of bitterness, leaving only fond and lasting memories for her and Erica to cherish. Mother and daughter grew closer, if that were possible, and it was only natural for Erica to continue to refer to her "Mommy" in such an affectionate way.

"If she was there for when I was born, she must have known Daddy." Erica’s eyes misted up as she recalled her late father and how much she still missed him, even nearly two decades after his death.

"She did know your father," Diane said, her own eyes teary as well. "She knew your Daddy even before I did, and she was with him when he died."

Erica looked surprised and confused. She said,

"But Daddy died in Iraq. Was she in the Army as well?"

"She served in the Army the entire time he did."

"Mommy," Erica began to ask, "Daddy was a hero, wasn’t he?" She saw that her mother was staring to cry and apologized.

"That’s okay, honey," Diane said as she patted her daughter’s hand. "It’s okay to cry, and yes, your Daddy was a real hero." David McPherson died at the all-too-soon age of twenty-five. He had been employed by UPS, but decided at the age of twenty-four to enlist in the National Guard. His unit was called up and he shipped out to Iraq just before the war ended. He and his buddies were just coming back from a fire fight, when an Iraqi stepped from behind a truck at their base camp. The man threw a grenade, which fell at David’s feet. Without thought for his own safety, he jumped on the grenade just before it exploded. He was killed instantly, but his actions saved everyone in his platoon but for one female soldier who really shouldn’t have been there in the first place. He came home to military honors. His companion in death came home to no one, save for her best friend, Diane.

"She died with Daddy?" Erica looked at her mother, who struggled for an answer.

"Honey, it’s time I told you a story."

 

"Excuse me," a girl’s soft voice came from behind. Diane looked up and saw a young woman holding several papers in her hand.

"I think you dropped this when you got off the elevator," the girl said, gesturing back toward the elevator door.

Diane looked at the papers and recognized them as pages from her term paper.

"Oh, gosh, thanks…this is due tomorrow, and my typewriter broke this afternoon." Diane stood and offered her hand. "Diane…Diane Johnson."

The girl took her hand and grasped it firmly and smiled. "Ronni…Ronni McPherson." The girl said softly, her smile inviting and warm. Diane looked at her, trying not to "size her up," but found herself staring. Girls, even when they don’t intend to, will look at each other as competition (guys do this, but don’t care how the other feels.) Diane saw no competition, although the girl was pretty enough. The same age as Diane, the girl had an air about her that spoke more than words. She seemed confident in herself, yet her demeanor also said, "I will be your friend, I you wish." And not just an acquaintance, but a friendship that forms when two people just "click."

"She lived only a few blocks from Grandma’s, so I saw her often after that when we’d go to Grandma’s for dinner. One afternoon, when your Uncle Bobby was being especially obnoxious, (as middle school boys can be with their teenage sisters) I took a walk down the street. A boy was sitting on the front step of her house. He looked all the world as if he had lost his best friend. And he had. His dog had grown old and sick, and they had just gotten back from the vet.

They had to put her down. I asked him where Ronni was. He looked at me blankly for a moment, and I could see that he had been crying. All of a sudden, he got up and ran into the house. I knocked on the door, but he didn’t answer. A few moments later, a woman about Grandma’s age came to the door. I asked her if Ronni was home. She told me that there wasn’t any girl by that name there. ‘It’s just me and my son David living here," she said, pointing back to the front door.’ I was confused. I was sure Ronni had told me she lived there. Maybe I got the numbers wrong or the street, but I was sure she lived in the neighborhood. I walked up and down the street, but I didn’t see her."

"It’s like a Twilight Zone episode," Erica said.

"Yes, it seemed like that, but it gets more interesting," Diane said, as she turned the page of the album. She pointed to a picture of Ronni and her posing at an arcade photo booth. They were silly and laughing.

"Looks like you found her," Erica said, stating the obvious.

Diane continued. "Then one day weeks later, I was getting a book down from the shelf at the library, when I saw her through the shelf in the next aisle. I walked around, but she quickly walked away. ‘Ronni,’ I called, but she walked out of the library without saying a word. I ran out, but she was gone. Part of me was very hurt; she seemed like she liked me, then no. And I was angry…who was she to ignore me? Anyway, a few days past, and I was walking in the front door, and I saw an envelope tucked between the door and the jamb. It had my name on it, and it was written in long hand. "

"’Dear Diane,’ it said. ‘I am sorry I ignored you the other day. I have had a lot on my mind, and I needed some space to deal with it. I like you as a friend, but circumstances prevent me from seeing you anymore. I am sure you’d be the best friend anyone could ever have, but I can’t be one for you at this time. Please understand; I am truly sorry. God Bless, Ronni.’"

"Oh, Mommy, you must have been so hurt." Erica said, putting her arm around her mother.

"I was hurt, but only for a little while. What really got me is that Ronni wanted to be my friend, but for some reason could not. She needed me more than I thought I needed her. And I wasn’t going to give up."

Erica recalled that her mother was known in the family as being tenacious, "like a pit bull on a mail man’s leg," her Grandpa used to say. She would stick with something until it was finished or couldn’t be done. And even at that, she had a hard time letting go. This was one of those times, and happily for everyone, she never gave up on her friend.

"I made a point to go to the library every day, hoping to catch her before she could run away. And it paid off. I was sitting at a table by the reference desk when she entered the library. Before she could run away, I walked up behind her and grabbed her by the shoulders." Diane said with a laugh. "I spun her around and looked her in the eye. ‘Ronni McPherson, don’t you dare run away.’ She looked at me and started crying."

"What was she crying about, Mommy," Erica asked.

"She didn’t say right away. She walked out of the library, but she had me holding her hand, so she couldn’t run very far. She tried to walk faster, but I just stood in her way.

"’Fine,’ she said, and kept walking with her new escort until we had walked about two miles. I recognized the street, because we walked right past Grandma’s and Grandpa’s house. She kept walking until we reached the same house where I saw the boy who had lost his dog."

"’This is where I live, but please don’t ask to come in,’ she told me as she went to open the door. I put my hand on the screen, and I actually tore a hole in it when she pulled against it. ‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ I said, ‘but I want an explanation!"

"She looked at me and her eyes began to tear up."

"’Ronni,’ I said, ‘what’s so bad that you can’t talk about it?’"

"Did she tell you?" Erica asked, by this time sitting on the edge of her chair.

"Not so much as told me but showed me. She walked into the house with me trailing behind. She didn’t try to keep me out, but looked as if she wanted to run away and hide. I walked into the living room.

"’My mom’s at work," she said, as if that would have explained all the clutter and mess. Beer bottles were strewn all around, the only obvious décor for an otherwise undecorated room. To this day, I don’t know why, but my eyes were drawn to the mantelpiece. It was the only place in the living room that wasn’t cluttered. On the mantle sat a picture. It was an old photo of a boy, about fourteen or so. He was hugging an Irish Setter. It was an old picture of the boy I had met weeks before. I assumed he must have been a cousin of hers since the woman said she lived alone with her son. I could see the family resemblance; it was almost uncanny. Usually cousins resemble one another to a certain degree, but these two…the boy in the picture and Ronni…looked almost like twins. I looked back and forth between the picture and her and then it hit me." Diane paused.

"What hit you?"

"I asked her point blank who the boy was, and not gently I might add. She looked at me and started crying again. She looked as embarrassed and ashamed as anyone you’ve ever met." Diane said this, but her voice trailed off.

"Mommy…Mom…what is it?"

Diane looked at her daughter, tears in her eyes. What was the secret to this girl, and why, after so many years, did she still have this kind of effect on Diane?

"Honey, that day was the day I met your father." Diane was not crying out of sadness; her eyes were filled with tears for the memory of the moment and the precious part it played in her life.

"The girl in front of me and the boy in the picture were one in the same, "Diane said, and she started to smile. She thought, not of the sadness in the girl’s face, nor the shame she expressed. Rather, Diane thought of the next moment…a moment that would change her life forever.

"I looked her in the eye….At least, I tried to, but she kept looking away. I grabbed her chin and pulled it around, and not too gently. She tried to turn again, and I grabbed her shoulder with my other hand." Diane started to laugh, leading Erica to assume things got better.

"She tried to argue, but all that came out was, ‘BBBuht…’ I looked her again in the eye and pointed to the picture on the mantle. With as much gumption I could muster (an old expression, dear reader) I stood taller and said, ‘SO WHAT? WHO CARES?’"

"She stopped crying, as if a switch had been turned off. She looked at me, shocked, like in the movies when someone wins the lottery. ‘But….I….’ was all she could say. I looked at her again, then back at the picture."

"Mommy, what do you mean, one in the same," Erica asked. She hadn’t heard anything her mother said after that phrase."

"I mean, light of my life, (she always called Erica that) what I am saying is that the girl in picture in front of you and the boy in the picture on the mantle are the same person…..your father."

"What!!?" Erica sat for a moment, her eyes darting from her mother’s face to the picture and back. Even with a husband that had a "sister" as an alter-ego, the news shocked Erica.

"Ronni McPherson is, was your Daddy." The moment could have lapsed quickly into inane, but for Diane’s expression. The memory, while confusing to her daughter, was anything but to Diane. Her memories of Ronni were ones of tenderness, kindness and love.

"But why?" was all Erica could ask. She might as well have asked herself that question. She thought back to when she reminded her friend Gina that while we choose whom we will love, we often do not choose with whom we will fall in love.

"Honey….it was one of those moments you have in a lifetime where you can’t figure out how or why it happened but you’re awfully glad it did. Ronni..." Diane was going to change and say, "your father," but Ronni seemed so much more appropriate.

"Ronni was a side of your father I knew even before I "met" him. I was drawn to her as a friend, and she to me. Oh, I know you think I’m crazy…"

"No more than me, Mommy…I mean look at me and Maired." Erica referred to her relationship with Mark’s alter-ego, which had changed and grown over the past two years.

"I mean, she was so….but he…"

"You loved them both, didn’t you?" Erica said, more as a statement of understanding than a question.

"It’s so hard to describe, but yes. Sure, Daddy and I had a great life together, short as it was, but it was even more special because of my friendship with Ronni. That day in her living room I told her I wouldn’t give up on her, and I told him that I loved him. It was a brother-sister love at first, but it grew into so much more." She smiled as she remembered her first and only love.

"When your Daddy died, they brought him home with full honors. There was never a braver man that lived. You were about nine at the time, and he was so scared, not for himself, but for us. What would happen…who would take care of you?"

"Mom...Mommy, why did Daddy go…what was he doing in the Army in the first place…? He didn’t have to join?" Erica said through her own tears.

"He always wanted to do something big, but not big for himself. He wanted to do something that would have meaning. His mom always put him down…She hurt him so bad, and he wanted to prove that his life was…" Diane choked up at this point.

She hurt him so much that he could never see how important his life was." She choked back the sobs and continued.

"When we talked the day before he deployed, I reminded him of the day you were born. He had "stepped out" for a few hours, and Ronni came to the hospital for a visit. She blessed you that day, and everything she prayed for has come to pass; not because of the prayer, but to Whom she prayed. You get your sense of humor from her, you know. Your Daddy was so serious…he was so smart, even if he didn’t know it. Ronni was more fun-loving, and could make me laugh…"

Diane paused for a moment. She began to cry. "I miss them so much." She began to sob, and Erica took her mother in her arms. "I’m so…."

"Mommy…I understand….It’s okay, Mommy," Erica said as she stroked her mother’s hair.

After a few minutes, Diane spoke.

"It didn’t seem right that Ronni died without anyone caring. Her mother certainly didn’t…she didn’t even come to David’s funeral." Diane referred to her beloved for the first time by his given name. "He was a hero…he saved six lives, and she didn’t care. She never cared for him…He was always a burden to her. Your Daddy once told me that his mother always said, ‘If only I had a girl.’"

"I think Ronni was born for all the wrong reasons, but she grew up for all the right ones. She was a good girl…she became a good woman. David was really a good boy; it was so sad that his mother never realized what a good boy he was.

It was even worse that she never knew the great man he had become…." Diane tried to fight back the tears, but lost the battle. It was okay for her to lose; this moment was for her and her daughter, and crying was a sad but wonderful part of that moment.

"Ronni was the girl who died when Daddy saved all those men, wasn’t she."

"I lost the two most precious loves I ever had in that one moment. I loved them both and I miss them so much." She continued to cry. Her crying began to subside as Erica’s tears fell upon her mother’s head.

 

Erica stood next to her mother on the hillside, braving the cold. It was raining, and she pulled the coat tighter around her neck. Diane stood beside her and looked up at the sky. Raindrops covered her face as she mouthed the words, "Thank You."

They looked at the simple marker. Erica had seen it countless times before. "David Andrew McPherson, Hero. August 5, 1965 — March 3, 1991. John 15:13"

"He was such a humble man….He could have been buried at Arlington, but before he shipped out, he made me promise that if something happened to him that he would come "home," so we could spend more time with him…." She began to weep softly, but continued. "Oh honey, he grew up without hope, but his faith in God brought him full circle to the place where he had all the Hope he needed. He gave that to you, you know." Diane said, trying hard not to cry so much that she couldn’t talk. She wanted to tell Erica how much her father meant to them both, but Erica knew.

Diane grabbed her daughter’s hand and walked over to an elm tree a few paces from David’s grave. Another marker was nestled gently between two large roots. "Veronica Hope McPherson, Beloved. August 5, 1965 — March 3, 1991. "Jeremiah 29:11."

"She held you closely the day you were born. She prayed that scripture verse over you…." Erica held her mother and they wept, out of sadness and loss and grief over what might have been, to be sure, but so much more over what God had brought to both of them through the lives of….two people.

 

From This Moment On

"Hey Erica," the redhead looked up from her reading. She had a novel in her lap and cup of coffee in her hand. "How are you?"

"I'm doing just fine, Maired, and you?" Erica set her purse on the table next to the front door and walked into the kitchen. She held up the coffee pot in offering.

"No, thank you. And I'm doing well." And she was...at least as well as could be expected. She "shared" the triumph of remission with her "brother," and her health was fairly good.

"How's your music coming along?" Erica asked as she settled down in the couch across from the chair by the window where Maired sat.

"I've just about got the arrangements down on paper, and it should be ready to go for recording in about a week."

Maired had only recently begun to play the cello, mostly for a complement to the violin that her brother would play for the recording, but also as homage to "their" late sister Maura, who had played cello as well. The CD that Mark had planned would include a lot of Irish favorites, with a tip of the hat to Celtic Woman and Celtic Thunder, but instrumental only. Their plans included penny whistle, flute, and some piano.

Most people would have accepted Maired's news with a nod and an encouraging, "That's great," but Erica was not most people. She began to cry softly, and she quickly gulped some coffee to hide her tears, but Maired noticed it. She got up from the chair and walked over and held Erica in her arms. She rubbed Erica's back while stroking her hair with her other hand.

"I..." Erica's crying abated somewhat as she struggled for words.

"Through...everything… you...we've been through...this music....the CD. I'm so happy that you're doing this.’

 

You may recall the enormous struggle the Kiernan household had gone through. Erica's husband was cancer free for nearly twenty months, and in the middle of all that, they had lost a baby through miscarriage. Their love for each other, linked together with their faith in God and support of their family and friends, had seen them through. Music had returned to the home on a frequent basis after a protracted absence, and the sounds of Vivaldi and Mozart, along with Innis Free and O Danny Boy, served as witness to the healing they now lived. Erica was more sensitive to the fragility of life, not only for what they had endured and overcome, but because of her own past.

Erica had that long conversation with her mother about her own father's untimely death at the age of twenty-five. He had died in the first Gulf War while saving the lives of other soldiers. He had not died alone, as Erica had discovered, but had perished sadly with his closest friend other than Erica's mother Diane.

Diane had explained that Erica's father had another beautiful side to him that he shared only with his wife. Ronni was her closest friend, the best friend a girl could ever have. She "died" the day David gave his life, and Diane was left with twin voids in her heart. Erica had thought very long about her talk with her mother at the gravesites...yes, her “grave” was only yards away from him. Erica realized that she loved Mark so deeply and truly, that the cancer continued to loom almost menacingly every day. But it now threatened to take away another besides Mark, and she feared, as many family members do, that the cancer might return.

 

"Maired...sweetheart...I need to speak to Mark...No don't get up, just sit there, please?" Erica said. They recognized Maired's role as an aspect of Mark's personality, so conversations like this would take place from time to time. Maired nodded and looked with compassion on Erica's face.

"Please...Let me say what I have to say...before you say anything. Okay." She was greeted with another nod and soft smile and she continued. "After what Mommy told me last week, I've been thinking and praying. I want you to know that I love you very much. I am so afraid that you are going to leave me...." She started to sob, but willed herself to continue. "You have been the love of my life since we were children. A lifetime for some, but not enough for me. And now, after what Mommy said, I realize that if you die, it will hurt twice as bad...I can't afford to lose...either of you. Am I making any sense?"

To be honest, Mark didn't even understand it himself; while Maired was an integral part of him, he still was learning more about her each day. She had her own taste in music for example. He preferred Irish folk songs and classical music.

She tended toward Diana Krall and Harry Connick. He still struggled with his own male identity and his feelings of insecurity. Erica had seen to it that she built him up in every way in that respect, and they had come to a place where it was acceptable, even comfortable, for Maired to visit frequently. What he found out, and this was what helped him understand Erica, is that it was okay for her to love Maired as much as Mark. It was as if they finally gave themselves the permission they never really needed to have.

Mark had long ago resigned himself to his own mortality. It was, as it always is, the ones left behind, not the ones who leave. He wanted to live for her sake as much as for his. He knew she'd survive and even live life after he was gone, but they loved each other so much.

"Promise me one thing..." She said.

"Yes."

"Never, never leave me." She began to sob, embarrassed at the request, impossible as it was. She just loved...them...so much.

"Never, my love," they both said to her.

 

Erica kicked the front door further open with her foot and dropped two bags of groceries on the couch. She was going to call for help when she heard the piano from the den. Along with the piano, she heard..."No more blue songs...."

"Cole Porter?" Erica said to herself as she walked down the hall. Sitting at the piano was an attractive woman with dark red, albeit, short hair. Her fingers danced lightly over the keyboard as she played and sang with verve and style, unlike anything she had ever played before. She finished the tune and looked up to see a very attractive woman standing by the archway leading into the den. The woman was absolutely the most beautiful woman she had ever seen...ever. She got up from the piano, smoothed her dress as a lady should do when standing, and walked over to the woman by the door.

"Only whoopdie-do songs..." the redhead sang softly in the woman's ear.

"Will that be on the CD?" Erica asked.

"I can't think of a better song to name the album. 'From This Moment On!' No more fear...no more doubt. Just my love for you!"

And then she kissed her.

 

"S’Wonderful"

The sounds of a violin playing Si' Do Mhaimeo I' echoed throughout the house. Erica hadn't quite gotten to it, but was able to tell "who" was home by the music playing. Mark still preferred Celtic and classical, while Maired's newly discovered tastes tended to Sinatra, Bennett and Krall.

"Lucy, I’m home," she shouted playfully as she put her purse on the table by the front door.

Mark had recently gotten a job with a middle school out of district teaching piano and violin part time. It was a welcome surprise that someone had found some money floating around the ether and sent it in the direction of the music department. There was talk of the orchestra that had disbanded two years ago might be reforming, and he might have an opportunity, even if it didn't pay anything, to play again.

"Hey, honey, how was your day?" Mark came from the bedroom, toweling off his head. His dark red hair was much longer than usual, owing to what Erica referred to as "the experiment." She teased him that after several season, she was curious to see what Julianne Something (Nicholson) might look like with long hair. And while long hair was a fairly complementary feature of Mark's looks, it did absolute wonders for his "sister's" already attractive appearance. He walked up to his wife and kissed her passionately, saying simply,

"I love you."

"Aishiteru to you too, sweetheart. Billy Bear is going to Japan! The publisher wants to repeat the series for the Japanese market, and we finished the changes today. They've got a wonderful girl in Osaka that has done some great illustrations." She smiled as she pulled husband into her for another kiss. "How was your day? I noticed you playing your violin...It brings me great joy, sweetheart."

 

After his long illness and recovery and after their miscarriage, Erica had feared Mark might never play again, but her encouragement and the love of friends and family had helped Mark emerge from his "dark night of the soul." The arrival of his "sister" Maired, while initially confusing, helped Mark define himself, and ultimately helped him define his music....and hers. One thing new, for both of "them;" Maired and Mark had started to sing. Mark, while a wonderful musician who was blessed with such a talent that has to inspire gratitude to a Creator, was never one to sing; He was not a typical "Irish" tenor, and his range was more suited to alto. First the odd humming, but soon he had begun to sing "O Danny Boy," and "Come by the Hills," but also "Chi Rho" and "An Irish Son." Maired, however, had never sung before in her life. She had always been a shy girl, never confident of herself, other than her desire to please others.

Once she had become more comfortable living with the Kiernan's, however, she began to blossom musically. She began to play the cello and flute, like "her" late sister Maura, and the hymns and songs of praise that once fell on sadly closed ears began to emanate from her. And JAZZ! She played the piano in a way that might cause Chick Corea and Diana Krall to say, "Not bad at all!"

 

"Actually, my day went pretty well, considering." He paused. The teaching assignment was good for at least until the end of the school year. He had learned after his brush with mortality that life was too short to worry, and his quiet confidence in God made bad news easier to accept. "The orchestra isn't getting back together after all. Too many of the musicians have moved on, and no one seems to have the energy to make it happen. Too bad, but I'm okay. One thing looks interesting, however." He was afraid of what Erica might say next, since she was the adventurous one in the family.

"And what would that be, love of my life," she said, playfully nibbling on his ear. Having little success in ignoring her, he nevertheless tried to continue.

"There's a piano gig in Mt. Airy...North by Northwest, a fill-in..Friday after next."

"And?" Erica asked, all the while nuzzling her husband's neck.

"It's a Jazz gig." Mark said, almost embarrassed to tell her. He knew what her next words would be, and while he was fairly confident in his own skills, he wasn't so sure about....

"Maired." Erica started to laugh softly.

"What's so funny?"

"I know about me for certain, but I'm not so sure..." She continued to laugh and her eyelashes began to tickle his ears.

"She and I don't have a thing to wear!"

 

The club was intimate but not crowded. The lights were low enough to create atmosphere without anyone needing to worry about banging into a waiter in the dark. The trio sat at the table to the right of the stage, out of the "limelight," as it were.

The raven-haired woman was possibly the best looking woman in the house that night, although she would likely have told you that herself. Sitting to her left was a very attractive brunette, who stared at the stage in anticipation. The two women were lifelong friends who had been through loss and gain, tragedy and triumph, disappointment and heartache, but romance and dreams fulfilled. They put down their wine and held hands. The black-haired beauty grabbed the hand of the woman sitting on her other side. She was blond, and almost as attractive as the other two, although you would be hard pressed to convince her. She usually spent most of her time at home, and only reluctantly agreed to accompany the other two for the evening. The woman next to her whispered in her ear, "You look absolutely positively lovely," which caused her already rosy Irish cheeks to darken. Unlike the rest of the clientele, the three were friends of the woman. And they actually drew together and softly prayed for her performance. While she had played in public many times before, she would be playing piano for the first time, and jazz to boot. The lights were already low, so no one noticed the three smile and look heavenward in an attitude of thanks. Maybe for Handel or Mendelssohn or Wesley, but Ellington or Parker or Fitzgerald? Music came from the soul, which came from the heart, which came from God, so it really did make sense.

An attractive woman stepped on stage and sat down at the piano. Her face looked vaguely familiar to the small audience, almost like a celebrity. Her dark red hair was complemented by her simple dark green silk top and slacks. Even though she was unsure of the moment, she had plenty of support from her friends and family. A fourth woman sat down with the other three and excused her tardiness, but glad that her daughter had not started. She looked at the other three, who noticed that she had been crying. She was alright, this the three knew without a doubt. Her tears were those of joy and pride for the piano player. Most people don't cry at jazz, but we can excuse the woman for a momentary lapse in protocol.

The performance went better than expect as the woman played with more poise than she had hoped for. Gershwin and Porter, Van Heusen and Mercer and Berlin. The woman played well, perhaps not as good as Brubeck or Tatum, but just as romantic as Krall. "Besame Mucho" brought a snorty laugh from the black-haired girl and caused the brunette to blush.

The woman finished the night with "'S'Wonderful," singing "You made all the other's seem blah," a slight change in lyrics that might have surprised anyone in the audience but the quartet by the stage. You will have to excuse at least one of the women, when the brunette actually started to cry after the woman sang, "That you should care for me."

 

Mark and Erica lay in bed, a nice breeze coming into the bedroom from the open window.

"She played wonderfully tonight," Erica said to her husband, as if he hadn’t been there. "No one noticed…" She wanted to continue, but Mark shushed her with a kiss. When he pulled away, she continued. "She played in front of a live audience, and no one noticed." Mark used the same manner of shushing as the first, and Erica stopped talking, uttering a simple, "Ummmm" instead.

"Sweetheart, I know where this is going…." He almost seemed annoyed, but really was more conflicted about his own feelings.

"That’s just the thing; we don’t know where this is going. All I know is I saw a completely different aspect of you tonight, and it would be a shame just to file it away under the "experiment" folder.

"But…" Mark started to protest, but this time it was Erica who did the shushing with a kiss of her own.

"Who’s your favorite actor?"

"What?" People sometimes do really stare with their mouth opened.

"Who’s your favorite actor?"

"Well, apart from some of his stupid behavior, Mel Gibson."

"Which role?" Erica by now was nibbling on Mark’s ear. He struggled for a moment, having difficulty concentrating as anyone would.

"The Patriot…Benjamin Martin."

"What about Riggs?" Erica asked, reminding him of the Lethal Weapon series.

"Yeah, sure."

"Harrison Ford a good actor?" She certainly seemed to know where this was leading, but Mark had no clue.

"Yes. Fugitive…Richard Kimble….Patriot Games…."

"What about, ‘Regarding Henry?"

"What about it?" By now Mark was totally confused.

"Kenneth Branagh? Henry the Fifth…you like the Wallender series on Mystery!"

"Yes."

"Heston, Stewart, Brando….just one role?

"No…?"

"A good actor isn’t defined by the role; the role is defined by the actor. Follow me?" He nodded, but it was clear he didn’t.

"You play violin, sweetheart, as lovely and sweetly as anyone who ever played, but you play flute and viola, too. And you play piano. Follow me now?"

"I’m not sure I want to." He quickly rephrased his answer. "I’m not sure I want to hear what you have to say next, even though I’d follow you anywhere."

"I have my favorites as well….Julia Roberts…Judi Dench…I like Mary Wilson…you know, Heart?"

Mark nodded, and it remained clear that he had no clue what words would come from his beautiful wife’s lips.

"I like Beethoven but I also like Sarah McLaughlin. I like Ice Cream, but I like pudding once and a while. She paused, and the look on his face said, "And?"

"I like Classical and I like…Jazz. And I love jazz piano, My Dear."

If this were a Loony Tunes cartoon, Bugs Bunny might have turned to the camera, a light bulb lit over his head as he would utter what Mark said.

"Oh."

She kissed him and sang softly in his ear, "S"Wonderful, S’Marvelous..that you should care for me."

 

A few miles away, another couple had just gotten home. The raven-haired beauty stood in the archway of the kitchen, sipping herbal tea. The blond had put her purse down and started to walk down the hall.

"And where do you think you’re goin’?" The woman said to the blond in as good a faux-Irish accent that an Italian-Swede can muster.

"I was just going to change," the blond said softly with a real brogue.

"As someone I know once said, ‘Unless you’re changing your shoes or putting on a sweater…"

With that, she set her tea down on the table by the door and walked up to the woman. The blond was lovely in her own way, with rosy Irish cheeks and that kind of enigmatic face that either a guy or a girl would find attractive…..Her lover kissed that face passionately, but abruptly pulled apart. She laughed and snorted loud enough to startle the blond.

"Beseme Mucho…." She laughed again and then said softly as she grabbed her lover’s hand, pulling her gently down the hallway toward the bedroom,

"Beseme Mucho….mi Amor."

As they disappeared into the room; their bull terrier sat outside the door, his tail wagging in approval.

 

Long As I Can Be With You - With Thanks to Billie Holliday

"Sweetie, what can I do for you," Gina Kelly spoke into the phone. She looked down at her crossword puzzle, and not wanting to miss the moment, put Erica on speaker." Emanating as from a cavern, a voice spoke up,

"Got time for lunch today?" Erica sounded calm, so Gina immediately relaxed. While she and Erica often spoke on the phone, calling her at work was all too frequently the harbinger of bad news.

"Sure…let’s make it an afternoon. The kids had a half-day anyway, and the school stuff is teachers only."

"See you at one at Giorgo’s?" Erica asked.

"One it is, girlfriend. See ya!" Gina gave a sigh of relief, thinking,

"Pizza….Must be something easy," Gina said as she returned to her puzzle,

"Six letter word for mystery…E…N…enigma!" She said triumphantly, not realizing how close she was to the truth.

 

"So tell me, how are the Kiernan girls doing?" Gina felt clever about the remark, since the two girls in the Kiernan household were her friend Erica, who sat before her, sipping diet coke, and Erica’s husband Mark, who occasionally dressed as his "sister," Maired. Once again, Gina was close to discerning the reason for their lunch date, even if she didn’t know it.

"Well," Erica said, looking quickly at the ceiling to avoid Gina’s eyes. "Do you remember the last few days of your honeymoon," Erica said more rhetorically than as an actual question. Before Gina could answer, Erica continued.

"I’m sorta kinda…." She looked sheepish, as if her mother had just caught her swiping a cookie.

"You didn’t…" Gina said, a grin growing wider across her face.

"Well? Not yet…"

Erica said, looking even more guilty.

 

Some of you may be aware of Gina’s unique honeymoon, but for those who don’t, as Inigo Montoya might say, let me sum up. Gina had just enjoyed several wonderful days of joy and discovery with her new husband Ben. He had swept her off her feet; flowers waiting for her at the hotel, his grandmother’s keepsake wedding and engagement rings, romance! Her surprise for her new spouse, on the other hand, was to prearrange one last night at a lovely bed and breakfast in Kingston, Ontario, complete with quaint features like themed rooms, communal bath facilities, and a completely different wardrobe for her lover, which included slacks, blouse, hose, shoes, and makeup. She had invited

Ben’s "sister" Katie without Katie’s knowledge. At the risk of repeating herself, this author must point out that Katie had a lovely Irish complexion, and her features would be a blessing for a man or a woman, sort of Jodie-Fosterish.

While the time was awkward at first, it nevertheless provided the couple with an opportunity to explore the growing relationship Gina was beginning to enjoy with Katie, while taking nothing away from her love and respect for Ben.

 

Gina raised one eyebrow and looked sideways with a half grin, as if to say, "I’m not one to talk." She talked anyway.

"You can’t."

"I can," Erica said with a smile.

"You won’t" Gina parried with her rapier wit.

"I will." Erica counter-parried, thrust and the match was quickly over. Erica sighed a relieved sigh, as if she would have to justify herself. Gina and she went back to when they both chewed gum (Gina still did) and they were writing boys names on their English notebooks.

"Maired is playing piano every day, even when Mark is around…you understand?" Erica looked at Gina with eyes that said, "This is way past anything I understand, and you are the counselor here."

"Sure….he is manifesting certain personality characteristics that once were only present when he dressed as his sister Maired." She said, looking quite proud at the insight. "Honey, it’s all the same stuff, just in different decorations…." With a lovely Irish lass who visited her own home on occasion, Gina knew exactly what Erica was witnessing. "Let me guess….Maired is humming "The Four Seasons (Vivaldi, not Valli)."

"Close…She’s singing the alto part to Handel’s "And the Glory…" which wouldn’t be bad if the other three parts were being sung as well. Anyway, I am confident that I am not losing my husband. He is as affectionate and romantic as ever…even more so since Maired started playing Cole Porter. It’s just…."

"Let me tell you something. Sweetie, it is hard enough trying to figure out what we ourselves need, without having to figure out what someone else thinks is best. Remember that time at that jazz club a few months ago?"

Erica smiled, remembering how special the night was. Maired had a brief coming-out-but-right-back-in evening, where she dazzled the crowd with Porter and Gershwin and company. Gina and Katie had been there, along with Marie, Mark and Maired’s mother (please pardon the alliteration.)

"It was such a romantic evening, that when we got home, I just couldn’t keep my hands off…..Katie." Feeling even more clever, Gina laughed at the timing, and almost snorted her iced tea. "It was just wonderful." At that moment, Gina almost looked like a girl who would write names on her notebook. She and Erica loved their husbands to death, but both, in their own way, had discovered a side of themselves that allowed…no, blessed them with the opportunity to love their "girlfriends" as well. They had fallen in love all over again, but this time in a different way with the same person.

"So I guess there’s just two more things I have to ask, Mrs. Kiernan."

"And what would those be, Dr. Kelly?" Erica asked with mock dread.

"Does your husband know about the affair?" They both giggled.

"And what would the other question be?"

"Why…isn’t it obvious?" Gina said with a conspiratorial smirk. "What can I do to help?"

 

"So where are we going, light of my life?" Mark asked his wife as they exited the cab. They had just pulled up curbside at the Southwest Terminal.

"Pay the cabby, sweets," Erica said with a smile, attempting with great success in distracting her husband. The cabby extracted the briefcase from the trunk, along with a small suitcase. "We’re traveling light, so no need for a lot of packing." She had told him, fibbing ever so slightly. They took the escalator to the main level, where they found the lines much shorter. Going to Jacksonville in May is usually less crowded.

"I want this to be a surprise, sweetheart, so please don’t ask a lot of questions." Erica actually would have said, "Don’t ask any questions," but that might have given Mark more information that she was prepared to explain. They got everything squared away, and proceeded to the gate, where most of the seats were still empty. A couple of women in their thirties sat talking. By their resemblance, they were most likely sisters. The darker haired of the two kept staring at Mark. Then they switched gears and focused their attention on Erica.

"I think that’s Erica Kiernan," one said to the other. "I recognize her from her photo on Jimmy’s Billy Bear books. "

The second sister nodded in agreement. "She does such a sweet job with kid’s questions about hard stuff. Remember when Nancy’s kitten died? What a sweetheart"

"Who do you suppose that is with her?" She looked at Mark and squinted, trying to gain more focus without much success?
"I don’t know…I think she’s married…Yes…I remember she said she lives with her husband in the Philly area. Do you really think that’s her husband?"

"Why would you say that…she writes such lovely kids books."

Her sister looked over at Mark once again, as if she would have seen something or someone different. She smiled an awkward smile, like when you’ve seen someone you swear you’ve met before but know you haven’t.

"I don’t know, there’s just something…." Her sister interrupted her, trying not to laugh.

"You know, I figured out who he reminds me of. Try not to laugh, I’m serious. You know how some guys look absolutely gorgeous….but…" She hesitated, not wanting her sister to think she was stupid. Her sister, as nice as person as one could be, would never think that. She would, as would more than a few people you might know, did stare at her sister blankly at the following.

"If I didn’t know he was a he…" She paused and stared at Mark. Turning back to her sister, she continued. "With some makeup, you know who he’d look like?" She paused again, as if her sister was on Jeopardy. Her sister looked back, and without much surprise, both of them said almost at the same time,

"Julianne…?" One of them continued. "Julianne….Julianne…?"

Erica had tried not to eavesdrop but overheard their conversation. She looked up from her Kathy Reichs novel and said,

"Nicholson." The sisters turned a red just a shade lighter than Mark’s hair.

 

They walked into the lobby of the Omni. With just one suitcase and a briefcase, there would be little delay in checking in, something which Erica had wanted to avoid.

"Honey, would you mind getting the paper and maybe another book to read from the stand?" While Mark was busy with the errand, Erica checked in, thus avoiding having the hotel staff discover who she was with and, more importantly, avoiding Mark seeing that the room was reserved for Erica and Maired Underhill (Frodo and Fellowship…Prancing Pony…go on…you remember.)

Erica looked up and down the hall while exiting the elevator. Mark was leaning against the elevator wall, reading the paper, or he would have noticed this ploy. Seeing no one, Erica walked quickly across the hall to their room (planned ahead). Opening the door, she quickly entered, followed by her husband, who was engrossed in the Major League box scores for the day before. The Marlins and the Mets were still chasing the Phillies. He didn’t notice that luggage was already sitting by the dresser. Dr. Gina Kelly had accomplished her assignment in the conspiracy by sending the luggage ahead for Erica. Mark put down the suitcase and briefcase and walked into the bathroom, looking for a glass for ice water.

"Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower, sweetie. After the flight you must be tired."

Please forgive her for that remark. He was in almost excellent health, but even after two years of being cancer free, he still had his moments of fatigue. Really, they were infrequent at that point, but she needed time for the rest of her plan, so she sort of encouraged him to "take care of himself" on occasion.

Mark got out of the shower and toweled off. His hair was now almost down to his shoulders, and could look quite attractive with the right attention. Being a music teacher (pardon the stereotype) might have led to little attention regarding his hair, but really, hardly anybody minds that stuff anymore. Either way, his hair, as long as it had grown, fit into Erica’s plan just nicely as well. He walked into the suite to find Erica on one of the two beds, her back propped up against the headboard, reading her novel.

"Have a nice shower?" She asked. She smiled lovingly at him, which only momentarily distracted him from what he discovered sitting on the other bed. Draped out in a neat and orderly pile were the following: White linen slacks and jacket; Jade silk blouse, lingerie and hose (A little cool in May in Jacksonville) and a pair of white strap sandals with two inch heels. A make up bag lay beside the pile. Sitting on top of the pile of clothes was a smallish oblong box.

"Oh…No!" Mark said. His usually quiet voice raised a decibel and an octave, making him sound just as loud as others speak in their regular voice.

"Just hear me out." Erica said. Mark was so nonplussed that he was unable to interrupt.

"First, please don’t be angry with me. I went to a lot of trouble to set this up, so at least listen before you decide.

If you don’t want to do what I am about to ask, then we’ll just have a few days in sunny Florida and then go home." She loved him enough to accept whatever he chose, and they still would have a lovely vacation. Mark looked past Erica and out the window, where it had ironically started to rain. "You…." She said, and then softer, "Maired is entered in the Jacksonville Jazz Piano Festival competition. Maired….Underhill. Mark would have appreciated the homage to Tolkien had he not been…well, it was hard to tell. His face was turning a bright red, and while he didn’t get angry often, Erica wasn’t sure it was embarrassment, either.

"I can’t." Here’s where it might be embarrassing for most guys, but keep in mind, this is a man who grew up part of his life mourning his twin sister. Not a weak man in the least, he had survived his own bout with cancer as well as the loss of a child. Much of what he did, however, both as his alter ego and as himself, was done in trying to honor, even measure up to his late sister’s memory. Even after success as a musician in his own right; even after Erica’s love and acceptance welcomed his other self, he remained in competition with his alter-ego, Maired. He wanted to be accepted as Erica’s husband, as you might expect. He and his alter ego would eventually come to an agreement as to how much time each of them spent with Erica, but both would discover that while Erica was fond of Maired, she absolutely loved her husband. But that would be later, and this is then.

Erica got up from the bed and walked over to her husband. She kissed him on the cheek and held up her finger, as if to silence him. She walked over to the window and drew the drapes closed. She returned to Mark and grabbed him by the hand. She walked him over to the second bed and pushed the novel aside. Without warning, she grabbed the robe and pulled it off of him. Lying down on the bed, she spread her hair across the pillow like a 40’s pinup. She patted the bed and used her hand to beckon him. He stood for a moment, and his wife repeated the gesture with a loving smile. He walked over to the bed, and she pulled him on top of her. He saw that her eyes had misted up, ever so slightly.

"God, Mark, I love you so much," she said softly but firmly. "I love YOU." And then she pulled him into her and received him.

 

After an understandable bout with extremely large butterflies, Maired was ready to play. She actually looked forward to the performance, and she really enjoyed the “warm-up,” if you’ll pardon the expression. The striking redhead played an absolutely charming variation of Vince Guaraldi’s "Christmas Time is Here," from "Charlie Brown’s Christmas." She finished just out of the final five, but was well received. Several of the artists noted with some disappointment the breathtaking diamond on her left ring finger. Most, if not all, of them failed to notice the gorgeous brunette at the back of the theater, who smiled through misty eyes with love and pride. And none of them heard the woman singing quietly to herself,

"Isn’t this a lovely day to be caught in the rain?"

To be continued in The Secret Redux