Places Bright and Dark

Places Bright and Dark

A novel by

T.A. Munroe

Lilyland book 2

I have had more trouble with myself than with any other man.

—Dwight L. Moody

I have had more trouble with myself than with any other man.

—Dwight L. Moody

Part I

Bright Places

1

Wedding Night

Charlie

Welcome aboard, Mrs. Winston, Mr. Winston, the attractive blond attendant said as we stepped onto the private jet I chartered for our honeymoon. I hope you’ll find everything to your specifications. I’m Hilary. My colleague is Christopher. We’re here to make sure you enjoy your flight.

My eyes wanted to flit back to young Hilary’s smooth face, and my hands itched to undo her pinned-up hair. But that was my old way of living. So, I simply kept my eyes on my lovely new wife.

Holy cats, Charlie, Lily whispered, eyes wide. This is wonderful. Where are you taking me?

Tokyo, first.

Tokyo? Her eyes popped even wider as she clapped her hands over her mouth. Then she squealed and twirled once like a girl, her wedding dress floating in a circle around her.

Let’s see the rest of the jet while the pilots do their final checks, Christopher said. Then we’ll be on our way.

To Tokyo! Lily said dreamily.

Following a smooth takeoff, we retired with champagne to the jet’s bedroom. Lily looked at me with a bit of anxiety, biting her lip. Are there other clothes in here?

What do we need clothes for?

Well, I’m not exactly an expert on Japanese customs, but I do think they will expect us to be wearing something when we deplane. You did remember clothing, didn’t you? Since you wouldn’t let me pack anything.

I had expert assistance. Do you need help with your dress?

She turned her lace encased back to me. Thank you. It has a hundred little buttons.

So it does. I better get busy then. I kissed her neck and shoulders as I worked the ridiculous buttons. She smelled faintly of lavender and sea air that still clung to her from our wedding at the oceanfront home of our friend Sophie. Her soft skin and hair aroused me until I ached. It was only a matter of minutes. All the months, hours, seconds of excruciating abstinence would have their redemption.

The buttons finished, I pushed the strapless top down to her waist and stepped around to Lily’s front where her hands crossed her chest. Why are you so shy? I asked. I’ve seen you in bathing suits. You’re beautiful.

She nodded, smiled, humoring more than believing me.

Maybe she knew somehow that images of nude bodies pounded my brain. I closed my eyes but they came faster, so I looked into those of my bride. You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me, Lily. Body and soul and mind. I drew her hands to my mouth, kissed each, then eased the dress off her hips to the floor, watching as her body revealed itself to me. She wore white lacy panties, a garter belt, and hose. Pleasure surged through me. The faint real tan lines didn’t bother me; she didn’t like artificial tans. So lovely, I whispered.

Thank you. She blushed.

I knelt and kissed her navel, and she giggled. She didn’t push my head away as I thought she might but sighed and combed her fingers through my hair. That was almost enough to undo me, so I held the dress down and helped her step out of it. I smoothed it out and draped it over a chair.

Let me help you with your shirt, she said.

I can manage. Walk to the door, please.

What? She squinted one eye at me.

I want to see you walk. She shrugged and took the few steps. Beautiful. Now turn and stay there.

All right, mister director. I could see she felt awkward, not used to parading around for men. She didn’t realize how sexy she was. I undid my cuff links and shook the shirt from my shoulders, then pulled my tee shirt over my head.

Now we’re getting somewhere. She semi-strutted her way back to me. Without the dress, she felt smaller in my arms, delicate and in need of protection. Our lips met, our tongues touched and explored. She made small sounds of pleasure as her body tensed deliciously in my arms. I want you so badly, she purred.

My erection was still trapped under layers of clothing. I didn’t trust it enough to let it out. We fell together on the bed, Lily on top, and she ground her groin onto mine. I moaned but made her stop. Let me take off your stockings.

So, she lay on her back and extended a leg upward, toe pointed. I tossed the shoe away somewhere before I unclipped the stocking from the belt. My hands massaged her thigh which I kissed as I rolled the hose toward her toes. The scent of her wetness invited me to slip a finger into her panties, eliciting a wide-eyed squeal.

Next one, quick, I said.

Here you go, she said, kicking the other leg around, almost cracking my nose.

For that you will pay! I tickled her sides, causing gasping laughs. She swatted me anywhere she could land one.

We fell to kissing places we never had until then. We had set the prenuptial kissing limit to the face and neck for the sake of my sexual sobriety and the mutual decision to save intercourse for our wedding night. She worked my belt and unfastened my pants. I’m ready anytime you are, baby, she said. I love you so much. I waited for this for so long…

I helped her wiggle out of her undies, noticing she had a bikini wax, something else she normally eschewed. While I took off my pants, she sat up to watch. She licked her lips when my boner, released from his prison, bounced with glee like a puppy let out of its crate.

Yum! She reached for me. Go easy.

My breath came in shallow pants, and my heart threatened to destroy my chest. I focused on the moment to keep my past at bay. I leaned over my wife, and she wrapped her legs around my hips. Every part of her invited me in. Her hands on my hips pressured them toward hers. Her mouth formed a soft pink circle that I entered with my tongue. I closed my eyes and prepared to open her. I envisioned me separating her, anticipating the soft, moist heat…

Nothing.

I was nothing. What had been painfully large, throbbing and hard was now limp and useless. I didn’t have to touch myself to know. It was gone.

I cursed under my breath.

Charlie? Lily’s eyes grew wide. I scrambled off the bed and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I pounded things with my fists until I realized I might be scaring Lily. Muttering, cursing myself, thinking it was payback for all the thoughtless screwing I did throughout my life, retaliation from the universe and God for all the women I leered at and used, for all the masturbating I did, all the porn I watched. Being in recovery from sex addiction and working the 12 Steps wasn’t enough. The damn universe wanted my wedding night.

Following a soft tap, Lily’s voice sounded through the door. Baby, are you okay?

I couldn’t answer.

Please, Charlie, grunt or growl or bang something if you’re okay. I’m concerned.

I’m okay, I forced for her sake.

I don’t pretend to understand everything you’re going through, sweetheart. Her voice caught, but she forced strength into it. I miss you. We don’t have to make love. There’s no law that says we have to. Let’s just lie together. We can see stars from the skylight over the bed. Would you please open the door?

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t let her see me like that. It was a while before she spoke again.

Charlie, I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished for yourself in rehab and after. You’ve grown into a wonderful man. I’m proud to be your wife. I’m exhausted, so I’m going to go lie down. Come to bed soon. I want to sleep with your arms around me.

I couldn’t even grunt. She didn’t say anything else, so I assumed she went to bed. I slipped silently from the toilet to the floor. My long legs stretched almost to the door. I twisted with the need to hurt myself. My body had never been anything but trouble to me.

The words of my friend Jim who had counseled and married us came to mind. He had said this might happen. Penises have been known to fail on wedding nights. Plus, this is a new type of sex for you Charlie, where you’re giving more than your body. If the old boy doesn’t rise to the occasion or if Lily’s flower doesn’t bloom, so to speak, how you handle it can have a powerful impact on your sex life for a long time. Be gracious.

The word gracious had puzzled me. But now I knew. Lily waited for me as I was, erectile dysfunction and all. I was being ungracious and keeping us separate.

Minutes later I emerged to a near dark room. Our wedding clothes were put away. Lily huddled on the bed, looking out the window dressed in the short silk nightie and robe I had chosen for her.

There you are, she said with a soft smile. Your night clothes are on the end of the bed.

I joined her after dressing.

The stars are so beautiful from here, she said. But still so far away. Except for the one you gave me to wear on my finger.

She entwined her fingers with mine.

I’m so sorry, I croaked.

I know, baby. It’s so unfair, isn’t it? I kind of yelled at God.

Is it a good idea to yell at God?

He knew how I was feeling. I was just being honest.

Sometimes her faith was so childlike it seemed wise.

Are you ready to sleep? she asked.

Sure.

I lay down and she rested alongside me, her head on my chest. My arms went around her. A sigh escaped me as a feeling like home entered my soul.

Her fingers stroked my chest. Thank you for putting up with all the wedding details. Sophie had so much fun planning everything. It was hard to keep her from going way over the top. Your parents absolutely glowed, didn’t they? And Jim and Josie were so happy for us. And David. I never saw a guy so proud of his friend. Annie even seemed happy for me. We have such wonderful friends and family, don’t we? She broke from my arms and leaned on an elbow. Thoughtfully, she pushed in my nipple. You know, we have forever now. We’re bound to get it right once or twice, don’t you think?

Stars reflected in her earnest eyes, and I smiled in spite of myself.

That’s much better, she said and lay down again.

I held her close, feeling her breath on my cheek as she fell asleep. I asked God to forgive my anger and self-hate, and thanked him for my wife.

2

Pregnant

Lily

Pregnant? Charlie whispered. Lily, are you serious? His dark blue eyes widened with hope. Are you sure?

Standing in my undies, I held out the pregnancy test that displayed the word Yes in neutral letters. My husband’s smile grew wider and brighter than I’d ever seen it. Mine wasn’t there yet. If he noticed my ambiguity, he didn’t say anything.

But ambiguity is a symptom of pregnancy, some say. Or used to be the last time I was. Which was twenty-one years ago.

He scooped me onto the bed then stretched out next to me. I couldn’t remember seeing him happier, and I’d seen him happier in the three years of our marriage than he’d probably been his entire forty-seven years of life. He caressed my belly and tapped lightly on it.

Knock, knock, he said. Who’s there? Daddy. Daddy who? Your daddy, that’s who! He kissed just below my navel then laid back laughing and kicking the bed like an excited boy.

Stop, please, I moaned.

He did but bolted upright. Oh my God, I forgot all about you! How do you feel? Do you feel sick? Can I get you anything? Water—let me get you a glass of water! He dashed into the bathroom and right back out. Cold water, filtered water. Sounding like a mad scientist, he scurried from the bedroom to the hallway.

I rubbed my belly and sighed. This could be a long nine months, probably more like seven and a half, now. If I managed to go that long. A delighted squeal reached my ears from downstairs; he had told Esperanza, our head housekeeper. I had to put a stop to broadcasting it for now.

A minute later, they both entered the bedroom, Charlie carrying a tray of coffee and fruit. A humongous smile split Esperanza’s normally neutral face.

Oh, congratulations, Miss Lily! God be with you! The Virgin Mother be with you! She bent over for a hug, her joyful tears falling on me. I’ll take the best care of you. You and Mister Charlie will have no worries. I’ll be like your very own mother. Here is some fruit to start and I’ll make you some eggs, bacon, and toast.

I think just a little oatmeal for me, please, I said.

But Miss—

All right. And some bacon. Crispy, please. Even the thought of Charlie's barely cooked bacon nauseated me.

Much better, she said. If you can sit up, I can put the bed tray over your lap.

Let’s eat outside, I said. I won’t have many days to enjoy a leisurely breakfast before we begin principal photography. I liked the birdsong and view of the canyons on the west side of Los Angeles.

No! Charlie said. You have to stay in bed!

For nine months? I don’t think so, buster.

Lily— His phone burbled the ringtone designated for guys in his 12 Step group. I slipped out of bed and into a robe, then out the French door to the balcony. Esperanza quickly set the table and left me alone with Charlie and the fellow addict on the other end of his phone. Not feeling comfortable with even Charlie’s end of the conversation, I strolled along the veranda and stretched.

Pregnant. The thought stole my breath and left a hole in my chest. Memories from long ago flooded in waves. My first and only successful pregnancy gave me my only child Annie, who was married herself and finishing up her master’s degree in Virginia. The second one resulted in a very premature son who lived only two hours. The grief resurfaced as if fresh and made it difficult to imagine a positive outcome so much later in my life. Charlie, too, had lost a young son.

Sorry about that, Charlie said when the called ended. He led me by the hand back to the table. So, we’re pregnant! We’ll need to rework your schedule.

Charlie, I said. We talked about all this with Dr. Eisenberg. I’m not dying. I popped a spring-green chunk of honeydew into my mouth.

But it’s high risk!

Believe me, I know. I’ll stop running and reaching and carrying things. I’ll stop wearing heels; I’ll eat well and swim moderately. I’ll sleep when I have to and anything else that Dr. E. adds.

I’ll call him now.

It’s seven. His office opens at eight. He assured us there will be no problem getting an appointment. Remember?

In a week or two. He sulkily stirred sugar into his coffee. I looked at his mug with envy. I’d been off caffeine and alcohol ever since we began working on getting pregnant. Over a year, almost two.

We should pray instead of worry, I said.

Quite right! He dropped his spoon, grabbed my hand and prayed, giving thanks for the little one inside of me and the joy he felt. He concluded, Bless Lily, Lord, for being willing to do this for me. Keep her safe, healthy, and strong. Keep us both, no, all three of us in your protective, loving hands. Amen.

Can I ask you to do something else?

Of course, my pregnant Princess. Anything for you! He crunched into a thick bagel slathered with peanut butter and jelly.

Keep it mum for a while, a few more weeks, anyway. Will you promise me that?

But…why? His handsome face melted in disappointment.

I’m not ready for a whole lot of excitement yet. The media will probably chomp on it. They like minding our business from time to time.

I didn’t think of that.

So, let’s just enjoy the newness for a few weeks. We can tell our family and our closest friends in a few days after I’m more used to the idea.

How am I not going to tell everyone? I’m so fu—stinkin’ happy!

Think of a creative way to announce it. Take a few days. Or weeks.

Great idea! You always have such great ideas. I can tell Roger and Hope, right? Can we tell them at coffee after the meeting tonight?

Fine. If we’re alone with them.

The wheels in my husband’s head must have been turning at a frantic pace because he allowed me to enjoy the rest of my breakfast in peace.

Charlie made the appointment with Dr. Eisenberg, who was highly recommended by high-profile moms around Los Angeles and beyond. Actresses and wives of actors all flocked to him, whether they had high-risk pregnancies or not. At forty-five, and with past complications, I was a perfect candidate for problems. And that scared the bee-jeepers out of me. But not Charlie. I hoped his blind optimism and faith paid off.

Annie needed to be told before the media found out and blabbed. She was old enough to be a mother herself. She still struggled to accept the fact that I had remarried, even though it was over six years since her father’s suicide. Her loyalty and love for him ran deep and conflicted with her desire to forgive me for my faults she believed led up to his death. I decided to call her that day. L.A. was rife with innocent-looking creatures that reported to the dark lord known as The Tabloid Media.

Well, that’s great. Annie sounded rather unconvinced. I guess Charlie is very happy.

More so than me, I’m positive.

I’m sure he’ll take good care of you.

He’s already made a doctor’s appointment for next week.

How is this going to affect your involvement with your movie? Doesn’t filming start soon?

In two weeks. I’ll work as long as I can.

It’ll probably be harder than teaching music part-time at that Christian school like you did when you were carrying me.

Co-directing won’t be as bad as doing it alone. I’ll probably have to force Charlie to give me scenes.

Are you going to have your baby bump all over the internet?

I hope not.

Chily is the middle-age ‘It’ couple, you know, she said, referring to the combination of our names we had concocted for our production company.

I am aware of that unfortunate fact.

Well, keep it classy, if you can. People like celebs who know how to behave.

3

Meetings

Tuesday evenings were reserved for Charlie's Sex Addicts Anonymous and my S-Anon meetings and would be forever. Sometimes Charlie went to others during the week when he needed a boost, but we liked those particular meetings because they met at the same time and the same church building. We’d made friends there.

As a connoisseur of sex addict recovery groups, Charlie preferred Sex Addicts Anonymous for several reasons. First, in SAA the individual develops their own definition of sexual sobriety. Sex, unlike drinking or drug use, for example, is a necessary part of healthy adulthood and comes with physical needs. Most people can’t simply say, I won’t ever have sex again. Although he was bound by our marriage vows, which was what some groups limited their definition of sexual sobriety to, he liked that people could define healthy sexuality for themselves. He also found SAA’s Three Circles helpful. His inner circle contained activities he considered to be unhealthy and sexually acting out and were to be avoided at all costs. The middle circle included risky activities based on past behavior that could lead to acting out such as contacting former sex partners or going to clubs where he used to pick up women. The outer circle was for activities that were healthy for a full life and continued recovery. The circles made it easier for us to talk about his issues, too.

Charlie had asked an SAA veteran Roger Stewart to be his sponsor. As a result, his wife Hope adopted me. In the beginning, we had many intense conversations with them, and they came to know us as well as our best friends, Jim and Josie Castle.

Charlie's meeting was for the addicts themselves. Like any 12 Step program, they discussed the compulsive behavior they struggled with and helped each other succeed in meeting their individual goals of sobriety. My group was for friends and family of sex addicts who wanted to support their loved one and be free of co-addictive, controlling, and guilt-based behaviors that were beneficial to no one, but were easy to adopt.

My S-Anon group met in a Sunday School room for mid-sized kids so we sat on smaller than normal chairs at shorter than average tables. The group was comprised mostly of women of varying ages and walks of life. Like any addiction, sex addiction was no respecter of age, income, zip code, career, religion, ethnicity or sexual orientation. In my three plus years attending meetings, I had seen people come and go. I had seen people humbled and those refusing to be. Those of us that gave control of our lives over to a Higher Power tended to commit to the process and found some degree of sanity, even happiness. We also spent time on the phone between meetings encouraging each other. It wasn’t an activity. It was a way of life.

Charlie had worked hard to stay sexually sober since before we married, and we’d had times when his sex addiction was only something I remembered on Tuesdays or when someone from the meeting called. Other days, he talked to me about his struggles, his memories of acting out, or some 12 Step wisdom he had applied that day. A few times I had held him as he sobbed and prayed and confessed some past transgression that kept hijacking his progress. Recently, though, I simply rejoiced at his open face, bright eyes and deep laughter. He continuously thanked me for my support with large and small gifts and credited me for his success.

Hope, just a few years older than I, was the facilitator of our S-Anon meeting and called it to order. She said, Hello, my name is Hope. I’m a recovering co-addict.

Everyone said, Hi, Hope!

Shari, will you please read the 12 Steps?

A woman with long, stringy blonde hair said, Sure! Hi, I’m Shari and I’m a recovering co-addict.

Hi, Shari! we said together. That was 12 Step protocol.

She read, Step one. We admitted we were powerless over addictive sexual behavior, that our lives had become unmanageable. Step two…

After a bit of other housekeeping, the sharing part began. Unless we shared, we simply listened. And in some cases, cried. We didn’t judge, comment, offer advice.

I’m Marcy, I’m a co-addict, a woman said.

We responded with the usual.

Well, Marcy said, Woody achieved a month of sobriety yesterday!

The group cheered, applauded, whistled. Marcy couldn’t contain her smile.

We’re so proud. I made a special dinner and a cake. The youngest kid asked what the cake was for. We haven’t discussed the details with them because they’re so young. Woody said, ‘We’re celebrating being a family!’ I broke out crying. I think that kind of scared the kids, but when Woody hugged me and cried, the kids joined in and cried, too. The youngest said, ‘What’re we crying for?’ Then we all laughed for about fifteen minutes. Pass.

That short story had almost everyone in the meeting in tears, too. Marcy’s neighbor hugged her. Ever since I started attending, I’d heard how Woody struggled with achieving any continuous stretch of sobriety beyond two weeks. I knew I didn’t realize how hard sexual sobriety was to achieve and maintain if a month was a major milestone to that woman and her husband. I suspected I had undervalued Charlie's accomplishment of years, especially before we were married. He had defined that state of sobriety for himself. Complete abstinence from all sexual behavior beyond the stringent limits he had wanted to set for our relationship.

Another speaker broke my thoughts. I’m Lena and I’m the mother of my sexaholic daughter. Plump and nervous, she wrung a well-wrinkled man’s hanky in her hands.

Hi, Lena!

Becca’s been kicked out of school. Again. A teacher caught her in the parking lot with a boy after the bell rang at the start of the day. They said her skirt was up and her underpants were down and they were fully involved—

Lena was a single mom. Her now-absent husband had abused Becca in all kinds of ways. I prayed for them every time I thought of them during the week.

We don’t know where she is now, Lena continued. Worry and weariness made everything about her seem gray. I yelled at her for an hour before I finally remembered that does no damn good. It just kind of tells her that’s her punishment and when it’s over, it’s over. She just sat there on the couch rolling her eyes at me. I tried to grab her cell phone away when she went to use it, and she clawed me like a mad cat. Lena tugged her sleeve over scratch marks on her arm. A few minutes later some boys came in a car, and she ran out of the house calling me every bad name in the book. Sometimes I think I should just let her go, give her up to the Higher Power, but she doesn’t believe in God, and she’s so young. Everybody, meaning her father’s family, gets on my case about her, but nobody will reach out and try to help. I know this is his fault and the reason why he left, but blaming him just uses up energy I need for her. I feel so bad even thinking this, but part of me really does just want to let her go, but she’s my kid. How can a mother give up on her kid? Who else does she have?

At that point, I was shedding more tears than Lena as I imagined a teenage girl at the hands of men who used her, maybe sold her. I imagined a dead girl found in an alley and Lena getting a call from the police…

Anyway, Lena went on, I called a couple of you during the week— she smiled at several women— and you talked me down from the edge of insanity and helped me remember I have her little sister who needs me and is still good. God, I’m so scared for both of them. I’ll pass.

As the next person shared her story, I thought about how helpless Lena was. She couldn’t control her daughter, couldn’t do recovery for her, or make her see how dangerous her behavior was. All Lena could do was watch and pray and support herself and her girls through the 12 Steps. Like with my first husband. I couldn’t change Mike and his physically abusive behavior. I couldn’t change Charlie. Lena couldn’t change Becca; Becca had to want to change herself.

Not all of us gathered shared. But Hope did. She told us her husband had saved up and bought her diamond earrings as a small token of thanks for sticking with him for over ten years of acting out and twenty of rocky recovery. She tucked her hair behind her ears and everyone oohed and ahhed. They were maybe half karat diamonds, trinkets in my supersized world, but I hoped in twenty years I could wear the pride and love for my addict that Hope did when she shared.

She called the meeting to a close. That was when we could ask questions and give advice, hug the hurting and the happy. Women gathered around Lena and embraced her, loved her. Marcy, too, in a different way. A new young woman, with a dark pixie haircut, stood back and watched.

I’m Lily, I said, offering my hand. Is your addict in the other meeting?

Uh, no, but uh, well… She took my hand and frowned. I guess that’s why I’m here. I was kind of scared to share.

It is scary, and you don’t have to share if you don’t want to, but it helps to get it out. I find once I talk about something, it kind of loosens up in my head so I can look at it in different ways. And since we keep things confidential, it’s a safe place to do it. Not like if you tell a coworker and soon the whole office knows, or if you confide in your sister and she goes and tells your mom.

Maybe next week, she said. Are you here every week?

Unless we’re out of town working.

Does your husband go to the addicts’ meeting?

He does.

Does he tell you a lot about what he used to do?

He’s told me some, I said, wondering at the question. I guess more than I want to really know.

Does he mention names?

I won’t let him. It’s easier for me around here that way.

Yeah, I guess it would be hard if he told you what he did with someone named Mary, so you would wonder if every Mary you meet was the one.

Exactly.

See you next week, maybe. She walked away, head bowed, arms crossed over her chest. I didn’t get her name.

Hi, Lily, Elaine, a well-dressed woman about my age approached. Her husband, Tony, was an entertainment attorney. He’d been in and out of sobriety for years and years. Things still okay for you guys?

Never better! Is Tony in the other meeting?

His car wasn’t here when I got here. He’s been acting out again.

Oh. Sorry to hear that.

I didn’t share tonight because I don’t like crying in public.

Things that bad? On their own, my arms reached out to hug her as she nodded sadly. As Elaine sniffled in my ear, I hoped I never needed to be on the receiving end of such a hug.

Can I call you if I need to? she asked. About this? She waved a limp arm.

Sure. We checked our phones for each other’s numbers and said goodnight.

Roger said, Lily, tonight Charlie shared about how much he appreciates you listening to him when he needs to talk about some things. Some wives don’t want to hear about their husband’s temptations and almost-slips, but he told us you always have something encouraging to say. I wish more people could do that.

Maybe, I said, because I married him knowing about his addiction. It’s harder to be resentful and jealous, I guess. I don’t know. It’s still hard to hear sometimes, but it would be harder not knowing what he’s thinking and wondering if he’s hiding anything. Hope, show Charlie the earrings Roger gave you for putting up with him for most of your life.

Hope leaned her head in Charlie's direction with a shy smile.

You make them even more beautiful, Hope, Charlie said sincerely. They reflect the sparkle in your eyes.

Hope blushed. Oh, please.

He has a gift for coming up with amazing true lines. I slid my hand up Charlie’s back and fingered the fringe of his hair. Roger, I think it’s wonderful that you honored Hope in that way. Congratulations on your achievement. Someone shared something tonight and I realized, Charlie, that I don’t think I understand everything it takes for you to maintain your sobriety as long as you have. Thank you. That means everything to me.

He beamed his acknowledgment of my statement with the shyest smile I’d seen from him. He shook his head, covered his face for a moment, then kissed my hand. Thank you, he whispered.

Sorry, didn’t mean to embarrass you in public, I whispered back.

You two are simply adorable, Hope said. Like kittens and puppies.

Roger guffawed and said. I hate to say it, buddy, but I’m inclined to agree. Except the kittens and puppies might be taking it a little too far.

Can I tell them now? Charlie asked, looking like a puppy himself.

Yes, sweetheart, you can tell them. His excitement turned him into such a charming little boy.

Hope seemed to know already, but Roger had no clue.

We’re pregnant! Charlie put an arm around me and squeezed.

How wonderful! Hope cried. How far along?

Well, uh, congratulations, Roger said.

About seven weeks, I answered. Even as all my fears rose up in my mind, I kept smiling, kept telling myself our baby was in God’s hands.

4

Subculture

Ugh, I said to myself the next day as I sat down at my desk at our production company, Chily Media. My stomach did not like the pregnancy one little bit. Constantly hungry, the sight of food made me nauseous. My energy level suffered. As did my attitude. I just wanted to be a diva bitch and left alone until I needed something.

The poster for Rally Cap, the first official movie Charlie and I had made together, stared at me from my office wall. Faces of the actors were superimposed on a photo of Chase Field in Phoenix where we shot the film. The story centered on a pro