completely caught up in your spell, considering a lifestyle with you that I didn’t even know

existed until last Saturday week, and then you write something like that and I want to run

screaming into the hills. I won’t, of course, because I’d miss you. Really miss you. I

want us to work, but I am terrified of the depth of feeling I have for you and the dark path

you’re leading me down. What you are offering is erotic and sexy, and I’m curious, but

I’m also scared you’ll hurt me – physically and emotionally. After three months you could

say goodbye, and where will that leave me if you do? But then I suppose that risk is

there in any relationship. This just isn’t the sort of relationship I ever envisaged having,

especially as my first. It’s a huge leap of faith for me.

You were right when you said I didn’t have a submissive bone in my body… and I agree

with you now. Having said that, I want to be with you, and if that’s what I have to do, I

would like to try, but I think I’ll suck at it and end up black and blue – and I don’t relish that

idea at all.

I am so happy that you have said that you will try more. I just need to think about what

‘more’ means to me, and that’s one of the reasons why I wanted some distance. You

dazzle me so much I find it very difficult to think clearly when we’re together.

They are calling my flight. I have to go.

More later

Your Ana

I press send and make my way sleepily to the departure gate to board a different plane.

This one has only six seats in first class, and once we are in the air, I curl up under my soft

blanket and fall asleep.

All too soon, I’m woken by the flight attendant offering me more orange juice as we

begin our approach to Savannah International. I sip slowly, beyond fatigued, and I allow

myself to feel a modicum of excitement. I’m going to see my mother for the first time in

six months. Sneaking another covert look at my BlackBerry, I remember vaguely that I

sent a long rambling email to Christian – but there’s nothing in response. It’s five in the

morning in Seattle – hopefully he’s still asleep and not up playing mournful laments on his

piano.

The beauty of carry-on rucksacks is that one can breeze out of the airport and not wait

endlessly for baggage at the carousels. The beauty of traveling first class is that they let

you off the plane first.

My mom is waiting with Bob, and it is so good to see them. I don’t know if it’s because

of exhaustion, the long journey, or the whole Christian situation, but as soon as I’m in my

mother’s arms, I burst into tears.

“Oh Ana, honey. You must be so tired.” She glances anxiously at Bob.

“No Mom, it’s just – I’m so pleased to see you.” I hug her tightly.

She feels so good and welcoming and home. Reluctantly, I relinquish her, and Bob

gives me an awkward one-armed hug. He seems unsteady on his feet, and I remember that

he’s hurt his leg.

“Welcome back, Ana. Why you cryin’?” he asks.

“Aw, Bob, I’m just pleased to see you too.” I stare up into his handsome square-jawed

face, and his twinkling blue eyes that gaze at me fondly. I like this husband, Mom. You

can keep him. He takes my backpack.

“Jeez, Ana, what have you got in here?”

That will be the Mac, and they both put their arms around me as we head for the park-

ing lot.

I always forget how unbearably hot it is in Savannah. Leaving the cool air-conditioned

confines of the arrival terminal, we step into the Georgia heat like we’re wearing it. Whoa!

It saps everything. I have to struggle out of Mom and Bob’s embrace so I can remove

my hoodie. I am so glad I packed shorts. I miss the dry heat of Vegas sometimes, where

I lived with Mom and Bob when I was seventeen, but this wet heat, even at 8:30 in the

morning, takes some getting used to. By the time I’m in the back of Bob’s wonderfully

air-conditioned Tahoe SUV, I feel limp, and my hair has started a frizzy protest at the heat.

In the back of the SUV I quickly text Ray, Kate, and Christian:

*Arrived Safely in Savannah. A :)*

My thoughts stray briefly to José as I press send, and through the fog of my fatigue,

I remember that it’s his show next week. Should I invite Christian knowing how he feels

about José? Will Christian still want to see me after that email? I shudder at the thought,

and then put it out of my mind. I’ll deal with that later. Right now I am going to enjoy my

mom’s company.

“Honey, you must be tired. Would you like to sleep when we get home?”

“No, Mom. I’d like to go to the beach.”

I am in my blue halter neck tankini, sipping a Diet Coke, on a sun bed facing the Atlantic

Ocean, and to think that only yesterday I was staring out at the Sound toward the Pacific.

My mother lounges beside me in a ridiculously large floppy sun hat and Jackie O shades,

sipping a Coke of her own. We are on Tybee Island Beach, just three blocks from home.

She holds my hand. My fatigue has waned, and as I soak up the sun, I feel comfortable,

safe, and warm. For the first time in forever, I start to relax.

“So Ana… tell me about this man who has you in such a spin.”

Spin!How can she tell? What to say? I can’t talk about Christian in any great detail

because of the NDA, but even then, would I choose to talk to my mother about it? I blanch

at the thought.

“Well?” she prompts and squeezes my hand.

“His name’s Christian. He’s beyond handsome. He’s wealthy… too wealthy. He’s

very complicated and mercurial.”

Yes – I feel inordinately pleased with my concise, accurate summary. I turn on my

side to face her, just as she makes the same move. She gazes at me with her crystal-clear

blue eyes.

“Complicated and mercurial are the two pieces of information I want to concentrate

on, Ana.”

Oh no…

“Oh, Mom, his mood-swings make me dizzy. He’s had a grim upbringing, so he’s very

closed, difficult to gauge.”

“Do you like him?”

“I more than like him.”

“Really?” She gapes at me.

“Yes, Mom.”

“Men aren’t really complicated, Ana, honey. They are very simple, literal creatures.

They usually mean what they say. And we spend hours trying to analyze what they’ve said

– when really it’s obvious. If I were you, I’d take him literally. That might help.”

I gape at her. This sounds like good advice. Take Christian literally. Immediately some

of the things he’s said spring into my mind.

I don’t want to lose you…

You’ve bewitched me…

You’ve completely beguiled me…

I’ll miss you too… more than you know...

I gaze at my mom. She ison her fourth marriage. Maybe she does know something

about men after all.

“Most men are moody darling, some more than others. Take your father for in-

stance…,” Her eyes soften and sadden whenever she thinks of my dad. My real dad, this

mythical man I never knew, snatched so cruelly from us in a combat training accident when

he was a marine. Part of me thinks my mom has been looking for someone like my dad

all this time… maybe she’s finally found what she’s looking for in Bob. Pity she couldn’t

find it with Ray.

“I used to think your father was moody. But now when I look back, I just think he was

too caught up in his job and trying to make a life for us.” She sighs. “He was so young,

we both were. Maybe that was the issue.”

Hmm… Christian is not exactly old. I smile fondly at her. She can become very soul-