The Strength of Love

ONE

With her thoughts ricocheting through last night's events, Rachel ponders whether she will ever feel the excitement of her face flushing, her heartbeat racing, and the passionate longing to share her life completely with someone else. As she reluctantly opens her eyes and faces the morning sunlight invading her room, her eyes fall upon the wilting bridesmaid’s bouquet resting on her dresser. He's out there Ebony. I know he is, she emphatically states, pulling her navy and tan striped fluffy comforter under her arms. The coal black feline purrs and caresses her whiskers against her cheek.

The wedding was really lovely, Eb, she says, stroking her confidant’s silky fur. And Nancy was a gorgeous bride, she mumbles while allowing her eyes to slowly close. Between dozing in and out of a restless slumber, she recalls happy thoughts of pinning her friend's veil.

You are absolutely gorgeous. Matt’s an extremely lucky man and don’t you ever let him forget it. You hear me? He better treat and spoil you like the princess you are or else he deals with me and my wrath, Rachel says as she giggles and hugs her dear friend, Nancy. The photographer captures every intimate second. After spreading the intricate lace across the extensive train, she hands Nancy her elegant, white rose-filled bouquet. You ready to do this?

Absolutely. He’s everything I ever dreamt of and one day, my sweet friend, you will find the man of your dreams and I’ll be wiping away your tears, so you don’t mess up your perfectly applied make-up, Nancy replies, as Rachel quickly captures the stray glistening drop on her grandmother’s cotton handkerchief.

I’m really glad you said that—I almost forgot. Take this handkerchief and wrap it around the base of the bouquet. This is your something old, from my Nana Mae’s collection of handkerchiefs. Rachel quotes her grandmother, You do know a real lady always has a proper hankie with her at all times? The friends share a laugh and a smile. Now let’s get you married and on your way to Hawaii, for your fabulous, passion-filled honeymoon!

Rachel’s heart flutters and truly aches as Matt promises his love and faithfulness to the woman of his dreams, the woman he intends to grow old with, the woman who will bless him with children, and the woman he would lay down his life for—Rachel dreams of experiencing that type of love in her life.

After cutting the cake, tossing the bouquet, which once again escapes Rachel’s grasp, and changing into her white silk suit, Nancy hugs her friend good-bye. I love you, Rachel. Thank you for always being there when I need you. Their hands collide as they simultaneously reach to wipe the others’ tears. After a good giggle, they hug each other good-bye. Rachel watches Nancy and Matt race through a shower of bird seeds and rose petals making their way to the waiting stretch limo and a life of love—a happily ever after.

After dreaming about her friend’s perfect wedding and wallowing in an hour of full out self-pity, Rachel forces herself to get out of bed and attend church. After the service and a late lunch, she curls up on the sofa with Ebony and a large piece of cake she saved from the wedding reception. While cheering for her Dallas Cowboys, Rachel devours the sugar-soaked cake and icing. She contemplates the idea of dating a hunky, professional athlete. Hey, Ebony, do you think I should date a professional football player? she asks the golden-eyed feline.

The feisty feline responds with a head butt prior to tossing her tail high into Rachel’s face and purring her way down the narrow hallway filled with family photographs. Rachel hollers after her, "I guess that means no? Of course, why should I take advice from you? If I let you have your way you’d be knocked up by four different tomcats."

Jason Witten, the Cowboys’ tight end—and I do mean tight end, scores a touchdown right as Rachel’s sugar high falls to a snooze-level low. As the jam-packed schedule of the day before takes its toll, views of tiny-tots in Cowboys’ jerseys fill her dreams the rest of the afternoon.

Rachel wakes to a heavy weight on her chest and a sandpaper lick on her cheek. Sitting up with a groan, she scoots Eb to the floor then heads for the closet to change for her aunt and uncle’s belated Christmas dinner. Hey, it’s never too late to celebrate Christmas!

Rachel’s Aunt Candace laughs and snorts, before wrapping her hefty arms around Rachel’s lanky frame. Rachel Thompson, it’s about time you showed your face. This turkey isn’t going to prepare itself. Aunt Candace always complains no one helps her cook, but the truth is no one is allowed to prepare, cook, or clean at any of her holiday meals.

I have a feeling you have it all under control, Aunt Candace. Somehow I think the poor turkey lost the battle hours ago, she says, with a smile. It smells really good, by the way.

Uncle Kent passes through the kitchen as the ladies visit and pretends to reach for a roll. Rachel notices he sneaks a peek down Aunt Candace’s blouse and brushes his hand across her nipple, while whispering something obviously naughty by the way Candace blushes, before retreating without a buttered roll hot from the oven.

Even after twenty-seven years of marriage they still have the hots for each other. Someday I will have that type of relationship. A love where you can’t help but smile. A love where your day isn’t blissfully complete unless you’re with the love of your life. A love where your cheeks flush every time you see them and your life feels fulfilled. A love so pure it endures…always and forever.

Now Rachel’s parent’s relationship is less than picture perfect. For numerous years, Rachel has played the referee role between Wayne and Joan. It wasn’t until Rachel left for college that her mom finally admitted she married Wayne simply to escape from the small town where she grew up.

Wayne visited her home town, one weekend, with a local boy. The two were roommates in college. Joan met Wayne while out partying with the local high school kids. She was immediately taken with the tall, charismatic college man. He was from Dallas, Texas and shared intriguing stories of city life, with Joan and her friends. A few weeks later Wayne invited all of them to a Southern Methodist University football game. The bright lights of Dallas and the smooth talking charms of the college lad wrapped naïve Joan around Wayne’s talented bookkeeping fingers. Three months after Joan’s high school graduation and Wayne’s college graduation the two were married and lived happily in Park Cities, for the first five years.

Joan became very involved in Junior League and Garden Club, while Wayne established his C.P.A. firm and became entrenched in S.M.U. alumni activities. The two lived separate lives, except when trying for a baby. Unfortunately, Joan had a difficult time becoming pregnant and found sex to be cumbersome, something she was obliged to participate in, but did not enjoy at all.

Wayne had been sexually active prior to marriage, unlike his wife who was a virgin their wedding night. He knew sex took two involved, willing participants to be enjoyable. He tried everything in his arsenal to engage Joan, but it was obvious she didn’t care for any part of sex, whether it be giving or receiving, in any possible position. Once Joan finally became pregnant, intercourse was taken off the table. The day Rachel was born Joan informed Wayne there would be no more children—her legs were closed for business. Joan focused all her attention on her beautiful daughter and the local garden club. Wayne focused his attention on his very limber secretary.

As Rachel watched her parents tolerating each other across the dining table she wondered why they didn’t get a divorce. Why not be happy with the right person rather than settle in a loveless marriage? She knew she wouldn’t settle. She wanted what Aunt Candace and Uncle Kent had, what Matt and Nancy had—the happily ever after.

Driving home from her Christmas/New Year’s Eve family dinner, her anxious stomach churns. Any time now, Margaret will call, ready to head out and celebrate New Year’s Eve with Rachel as the third wheel.

Get over yourself, Rachel. Going out with all of us is a hell of a lot better than sitting at home by yourself, Margaret explains.

Margaret, I know your intentions are good, but I would much rather watch the ball drop from my comfy couch. Ryan Seacrest is nice eye-candy and Ebony will give me a head butt when everyone else is kissing at midnight. You guys go have fun. I’ll enjoy a glass of champagne and head to bed. Next year, I promise, I will join all of you.

You said that last year, Margaret snips.

And I had the best of intentions. Next year I will be there. Cross my heart I’ll do my very best to have a date next year. Now go! Go have fun and tell everyone hello, for me.

After trudging into her home, Rachel luxuriates in a bubble bath with a tall glass of bubbly, before joining Ebony and Ryan Seacrest in her den. Ryan counts down the ball drop prior to Rachel tooting her store bought horn at midnight and frightening Ebony so badly she rips the arm of the couch when she ejects her furry body high in the air.

Witnessing the fabric ripping beneath Ebony’s curled claws, Rachel screams. Ebony screeches. Ryan hollers Happy New Year as all of New York roars and engages in a massive lip-lock. Rachel slumps against the arm of her torn sofa and gulps the rest of her champagne, before curling into a ball beneath her angora throw. Next year has to be better.

The brand new year begins earlier than she ever intended, with a pounding on her front door…and in her head. Go away, she grunts, burying her head beneath the over-sized throw pillows. The pounding continues—For the love of God, please stop and go away, she whimpers. Ebony crawls on top of her head doing her very best to redeem herself by reducing the pounding sound. Ebony’s weight and heat actually help.

Rachel, it’s Margaret. Please open the door.

Seriously, why on earth is she not still in bed sleeping or having sex? With her hands supporting her temples, Rachel slowly makes her way to the front door. The light seeping in as she opens the door burns her eyes and forces her to hurry down the hallway into her guest bathroom. How much champagne did I drink? Once she regains composure, she returns to the den where she finds an empty bottle of champagne, on the coffee table, in front of Margaret. Question answered.

All right, Margaret, what brings you here so early? Any normal soul would be sleeping or having morning sex, so what’s your excuse? For the second time, in less than ten minutes, Rachel is blinded by a bright light.

I got engaged! Margaret shrieks.

Rachel’s head explodes resembling the final scene in the fireworks show from last night. Her heart sinks and her acting skills kick into high gear. Oh. My. Gosh! I’m so happy for you, Margaret. Let me see that rock. The Academy Award worthy performance continues for another thirty minutes. Rachel oohs and ahhs as her friend gives her a play by play of the proposal and continues flashing her ostentatious ring. She’s truly happy for Margaret, but once again she’s a bridesmaid and not a bride—hell, she can’t even get a date. So much for the New Year being better.

Tired of moping around the house by herself, Rachel drives to Lake Tyler. Lowering the top of her baby blue Mustang convertible, she tunes her radio to the local country station, and sips on her Route 44 Sonic vanilla-Coke. The sun’s a beautiful blazing ball of burnt-orange and red lowering into the lake or so it appears.

Rachel reclines her seat and props her feet on the dash. Texas weather, she mumbles. Only in Texas could it be sixty-eight degrees on January 1st. Her thoughts boomerang over the past months and especially the past few weeks. One of her best friends married. Her dear friend became engaged. One of her sorority sisters had a baby and a friend, from high school, posted her pregnancy news on Facebook. Everyone’s in love—except Rachel.

Hey, God. It’s me, Rachel. Remember me? I feel as though you’ve forgotten me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m appreciative of my job, friends, and family and I’m very thankful for my health, but was it too much to hope for a date for New Years? I mean, jeez, my friends are getting engaged, married, and having babies. All I’m asking for is a date.

I’m a good person. Really, I am. I’m twenty-six years old and tired of living like a nun. I’m looking for someone to grow old with, care for, love and cherish, and be my best friend. I haven’t found anyone, but you could change all of that—will you alter my Facebook status? I’ll be a great girlfriend, wife, and mother. Give me someone to shower my love upon and someone who will love me unconditionally, Lord.

Tomorrow will be a new, better, brighter day—I know it!

TWO

Returning to work after a holiday break is tough, Eb, Rachel states as she irons her slacks. Ebony meows and stretches, before curling into a ball on the arm of the couch. Obviously, my dear, you don’t give a damn. Do you? Yes, Rachel’s a fan of Gone with the Wind. You know, girl, my life would be very boring without your fascinating conversation. Ebony crosses her paws over her eyes, ignoring her dedicated owner. I rest my case, lady.

Dressed in red slacks and a white silk blouse, with a matching cardigan, Rachel travels down the street to Emmerson Middle School. As of last year, Rachel serves as the seventh grade counselor and eighth grade cheerleading sponsor. The students adore her and her co-workers continue their daily search for the man good enough to date their dear friend and fellow co-worker.

Checking her mail slot, Rachel crosses Melanie’s path. Rachel, how was your friend’s wedding? Did you catch the bouquet? Before she has a chance to respond, Principal Marie Chase chimes in, Did you meet a single man at the wedding reception?

After a deep breath and a long sigh, Rachel replies, "The wedding was wonderful. Nancy was a stunning bride and Matt made me melt with his reaction when he first set eyes on Nancy and said his vows. No, I did not catch the bridal bouquet…and yes I tried."

Turning her face in Marie’s direction, she continues, Marie, the only single man I met was four years old and carried his ring bearer pillow like a pro. I knew he was a no-go when he wouldn’t share his cake with me. Rachel smiles, winks, and waves good-bye, over her shoulder, as she heads to the auditorium for the school assembly.

While standing at the lectern the counselor announces, Students, this weekend is the Smith County Rodeo and Fair. Each of you will receive a ticket for a free admission. The tickets will be passed out today, in your home room class. Please notify your parents of the fair and rodeo. Additional tickets may be purchased at the fair gates. I hope to see you there.

The bell’s ringing is eagerly greeted by the sound of two hundred squeaking chair’s flipping back to their upright position and the smell of teen-age sweat and pheromones filling the air as students hurry to visit with each other on their way to their next class.

Rachel returns to her office where she filters through her numerous daily emails. The first one, of course, is from the happy honeymooners: Wish you were here…well, not really. LOL. Truly, I’m happy for them, but I’m ready for my happily ever after.

From the corner of her eye, Rachel sees Courtney sweep into the room. Miss Rachel, how ya doin’? She has the cutest curvy figure ever created. All men, and even women, admire her hour-glass figure. She may be petite, but she packs a punch.

Hey, Courtney. I’m fine. How are the essays coming in your English Lit? Rachel asks, popping a Hershey’s chocolate kiss in her mouth. Chocolate is the cure for everything. Can this year’s batch of eighth-grade students write Shakespeare?

She snorts, flopping into the oversized chair opposite Rachel’s desk. She tucks her legs under her because at five-feet three-inches, her feet don’t touch the floor. Please, she groans. In today’s time, Shakespeare couldn’t write Shakespeare. He’d be too busy texting. She leans forward and snatches a flyer for the rodeo from Rachel’s desk. Courtney’s blond bob swings in time with her effervescent rhythmic East Texas twang. Are you really going to the fair and rodeo?

I’m planning on it. I don’t have anything else to do. As long as the weather is good I’m there. How ‘bout you?

Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it. Courtney snatches a chocolate kiss. While unwrapping the tiny foil, she continues, Sam’s competing in the team-roping competition.

The what?

Team-roping. She pops the kiss in her mouth and releases an orgasmic sigh.

Rachel smiles at her friend’s reaction. That’s what I thought you said. There’s a competition for a team to twirl a rope?

Courtney laughs while slipping off her shoes. Curling her feet under her curvaceous tush, she says, Yes. No. Kinda sorta. Her hands draw a picture as she attempts to explain. There’s a header and a heeler. Rachel scrunches her face. The header ropes the steer’s head and the heeler his back feet or heels. Sam’s a header.

Gotcha—I think.

We want you to come watch and meet his partner, Brooks. Rachel lifts her right eyebrow. "Now, now. He’s a terrific guy and he’s mighty fine. And I do mean fine. What’s it going to hurt to meet him?"

Nothing…I guess. Rachel’s mind quickly filters through all the excuses she uses to get out of dates.

Continuing in her thick East Texas drawl, You guess, right. After the competition, we’ll all go grab a bite. I’ll pick you up tomorrow around three o’clock. The two of us will play around the fair and then go to the rodeo at five-thirty. The guys should be done around seven-thirty. I really think you’ll like him, but if not it’s a free meal. Okay?

I doubt you will take no for an answer, so…okay. While leaning back in her chair, Rachel snickers. By the way, what does one wear to a team-roping competition?

THREE

Courtney arrives at three o’clock on the dot. She’s adorable in her tight jeans, boots, and apple-red snap-front shirt. The shirt’s tucks emphasize each of Courtney’s magnificent curves.

To say Rachel loses all confidence when she sees Courtney is an understatement. There’s no way any man will know I exist when standing next to your hour-glass figure.

Puh-leez. I would kill to be tall and thin like you.

The school counselor is striking in her denim leggings, flats, and cream angora sweater, even if she doesn’t realize it. What Rachel lacks in curves she makes up for in presence. The gentle waves of her one-length chestnut brown hair shine brilliantly. Even after having three inches cut off last week, her hair passes her shoulder blades. Most men don’t like tall women. Especially tall women with few curves. Trust me you got the better deal, Rachel explains, while still admiring Courtney’s numerous hills and valleys.

"Oh hush. Get in the car. There’s a