Who Will Be My Judas? 

“It’s time.”

Every now and then a cyclist would pass by and nod, yet, not one took the time of day to offer help. I wasn’t in need of anything, but I was sure I looked it. Standing alone upon a bridge that spanned the quiet, yet busy, Marina Del Rey canal, I watched the sailing of small boats, a school of windsurfers and a training session of outriggers listening to their captain shout…

“Stroke, stroke, stroke.”

The sun beat down and bounced off the water with a blinding glare, then just as strongly, the clouds would roll in and devour the sun as if they were dueling, a contest to reveal the mightier of natural powers.

“Where are you,” I spoke out to the universe, knowing my thoughts would surely be carried forth to my angel.

He wasn’t really an angel. At least I didn’t want to believe he was. I never wanted to believe right up until it was too late, and he was gone. He left as simply and quietly as he had come into

my life.

     “I am here with you and always will be,” echoed his voice inside my head.

     It wasn’t my wishful thinking. He truly was letting me know that he never really left. Warmth washed over my body as I listened to his reply. I looked at the cloud-covered sun, knowing my angel truly was with me.

     “It’s time,” I heard him say again.

     I nodded and slowly took my first step toward a physically long journey, ground I thought I’d already covered. The journey was to start at the bridge and the destination was Monterey,

California.

I slung my backpack over my shoulders and adjusted the straps so the pack moved with my body, creating a flow instead of a fight. My pack, weighing approximately 25 lbs., allowed me

to carry a one-man tent, sleeping bag, some clothing, a towel, extra shoes, a small propane cookware set, a little fruit, packets of beef jerky, a small box, headlamp and a hunting knife. It also gave me the ability to carry bottled water that I could suck from a tube while I walked. Shaking my head, not wanting to believe that I was actually doing this, I swayed to the side of the path as a cyclist streamed by.

“Three weeks,” I told myself. “Twenty miles per day.”

Shaking my head, I reluctantly acknowledged the 350-plus miles I’d be walking. My simple rules didn’t allow me to take rides. I could accept food from strangers and shelter only in emergencies. My angel had been doing this most of his life. I figured I could hack at least three weeks. I’d never really roughed it, unless camping with my family as a child counts for roughing it. Anyway, it was a long time ago. I was now used to more comforts in life, or at least what I thought were comforts. The way I’m dressed, I’m certain of one thing… I’m not inviting company.

I should give you a little background on my angel. He doesn’t really like being called this, but I couldn’t think of anything more appropriate. He helped change my life. He never told me what to do; he always led by example or through question. Sometimes even a stammer of thought would give me an answer I so needed.

My friends have told me over the years that there are no such things as coincidences. I never wanted to agree with this because it would mean our lives are pre-planned for us in some way by

an ego as big or bigger than God’s.

My journey on this very road didn’t start when I met my angel, named Joe. (No, I didn’t qualify for the archangel Gabriel.) My journey started four years earlier with what was the

end of life as I knew it and the beginning of a search for new purpose. It started when my marriage ended and my family was killed. I lost my husband, Robert, my son, Jake, and my

daughter, Jenny, to a tragic accident… an accident where I should have been killed too, but I wasn’t there.

I met Robert when I was 28 and VP of sales for a national corporation. He was the CEO of a company that he and three friends started. They took entrepreneurship to a whole new level

of play. Robert was an incredibly intelligent man, eight years my senior when we met. It wasn’t love at first sight. It was love over the phone. Oh, that sounds nasty, doesn’t it? What I mean to say is that we talked for a year over the phone before actually meeting. I can honestly say that I wasn’t attracted to the physical man, but was in love with the person I’d grown to know over

long office conversations often followed by late-night chats from home.

After five years of climbing the corporate ladder, I was poised to attain my dream when Robert’s company bought us out. The day he fired me, he asked me to marry him. Robert didn’t want his wife to work. He wanted her to stay home with the kids and raise a solid, loving family.

“We will have a traditional marriage,” he promised. “With one exception, I’ll be the head and you’ll be the neck. I’ll move us in the direction you turn us.”

I’d heard this before and I’d always thought it was corny, but Robert was a fair man. He was someone I could and really did trust. I’d been in relationships before, but the married life I lived with Robert was an emotional involvement requiring little work. He was always considerate of me, my thoughts, and my needs. In return, I learned I didn’t need much, but I wanted more. Though I knew I had a lot, my relationship with Robert was somehow unfulfilling. There was something I thought I lacked. It wasn’t until Robert was gone and I met Joe that I realized that I had it all.

One of the only arguments we had in our marriage was when I went back to work. He didn’t like it. Not one bit! He wanted the traditional, loving family that he remembered while growing

1. He saw that his parents made things work in the worst of times. When he’d asked his father how to make the magic last, his father replied, “Life is a game. Never play the game against

your spouse. It’s game over when you do.”

Robert knew a friend who’d compromised his marriage and went on a few “business trips” with his secretary. Sure enough, within a year, he was divorced. Robert stopped talking to the

friend unless he had to. He was tolerant of the guy… it was his life… but Robert didn’t want the drama encroaching on our bliss. I’d loved him for this but I still went back to work.

I’d been back in sales for a year and I was due for a vacation. I’d exceeded all quotas since I’d started and a trip to the Bahamas for two weeks with Robert and the kids was just the reward needed. I had one last sales meeting before our trip so Robert would take the kids to Florida where I’d meet them on a flight arriving two hours later. From there we’d fly out to the Bahamas together.

They never made it to the airport. On the way to the car-park, they were hit by a drunk driver, speeding to hell at 90 mph, at an intersection two blocks from the airport. They say there are no coincidences. The drunk driver was the woman I replaced in sales.

Three years of a heavy depression, and being tinkered with by a psychiatrist, really did nothing for me. I was the wreck now. I needed a change and I knew it, but knowing something needs to be done and doing it… are two different things. The antidepressants kept me depressed, or so I thought. The house, the biggest house on the block, looked a shambles. The gardeners still came so I had a nice yard around a house with chipping paint. Outside lights had dimmed permanently, like the light inside of me, and the windows hadn’t been cleaned since the accident. Let’s not forget the roof. During the winter I was placing pots in the upstairs bedrooms to save the carpets from disaster.

I was living off Robert’s insurance policies and income from his part of the business that his partners made sure I received. With the final settlement, the business income would end in

another three years. What I’d be doing three years from now… only heaven knows… if there really is a heaven.

I’m sure I lost some good friends because of my depression. There came a point one Thanksgiving when I noticed there weren’t any invitations. I don’t really think I can blame them, I know I wasn’t a pleasure to be around. Even I realized the funk I let myself slip into. I must have been getting something from the tragedy that I turned into a sympathy party. Can you say, “Table for one?” I could and I did.

One day while shopping for some groceries I ran into an old friend, Gillian, who had recently moved back into town. She asked how Robert and the kids were. She hadn’t heard. I just walked away not wanting to believe that someone couldn’t possibly know. Evidently, she didn’t. I found this out to be true when she knocked on my door the next day, Sunday afternoon. Upon opening the door to Gillian, she stepped in and gave me a warm hug.

“I didn’t know. I just found out after I saw you yesterday. I’m working with Annie in the office.”

“Oh, Annie. You’re working with Annie now?”

“I just started this last Wednesday. I’m so sorry.”

I could see from the tears streaming across her cheeks that she was sincere. I invited her in for coffee and we caught up on old times.

Gillian had moved to New York to pursue her career in high-end real estate. Her husband was a partner in a firm that leased out or sold penthouse condominiums. Their two boys were five at the time. After the boys left for college, her husband left her. Since the kids were grown, she decided it was time to come back to where she felt most comfortable, Southern California, where the weather is more than bearable all year long.

Gillian bought a home about half a mile from the beach. She could walk to her job which continued to focus on real estate. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but I asked her what she thought my

home might go for.

“Are you kidding? This is California!”

     The thought of selling my house made me shudder. This house was for family, my family. Though they weren’t here in the physical sense, they were here in spirit. The pictures on the

walls proved it. Every now and then I stopped to take a good long look at my missing life and cry. My pity party, table for one.

I confided in Gillian that I couldn’t think of selling even though I knew it was time to move on and the house was more than I could handle. I took a deep breath that wavered. Gillian

caught that waver and reached across to me, holding my hand gently.

“When things are right, you’ll know.”

I stared at her for a moment and nodded.

“In the meantime,” she said, “I want to help you fix up the place. How are you doing financially, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I don’t mind. I’m doing fine. Robert really looked after me.”

“I just met this guy who repairs homes. Can I give him your number?”

It took a while for me to answer because I wasn’t sure I wanted some stranger fixing things in the house. I knew it needed work, but I wasn’t ready to open it or me. Actually, I wasn’t sure what I was. I looked over at Gillian and offered her another cup of coffee. We continued our conversation, and before we knew it, night had fallen. It was as though she didn’t want to leave. I

almost think she was as lonely as me.

We had a long, friendly hug at the door and I watched her safely to her car. Waving a last good-bye, I turned and closed the door behind me. I would have shut off the front porch light but

that light burned out years ago.

As I looked to the staircase, I noticed how worn the wood was. The finish was flaking and filthy. Walking up the stairs, each step had a path where the varnish had worn away. It was a pattern that seemed to symbolize my life.

This morning it took me an hour to get out of bed. I was exhausted, though I had no reason to be. I want to get out of this funk. When was the hurt going to end? It had been four years. God, if you’re out there, show me the way, please.

Dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, I looked around my room. Everything just seemed a mess. I hadn’t washed my bedding in months. The sheets looked disgusting. I remember when I made my bed every morning. Everything had to be in its place before I left for work. I wasn’t anal about it. I just wanted the place to be nice when I returned home.

Bathroom towels wouldn’t be scrunched and just thrown over the rack; they’d be hanging properly, neatly. Now they hung in disarray over the shower stall door or lay piled on the floor. My life used to be Feng Sheu-ish. Now, I’d look presentable when I left the house, but that was the fake me. Everything looked fine, but absolutely nothing was or felt fine.

I stood at my bedroom window and noticed a mother bird feeding her young in the tree just outside. When she finished, she flew across the street to my neighbor’s house. She stopped on the balcony where a man was painting the railing.

The man stopped what he was doing and just smiled at the bird, admiring it. When the bird flew away, he continued to paint. Then the man stopped and was looking around for something. When his gaze lifted, he was looking directly at me. He somehow knew I was here.

Ducking back from the window, I began this little game of hide-and-seek. He continued to do his painting and I continued my game of watching him. He finished the railing and disappeared. Game over.

I didn’t have much of an appetite those days but I did force myself to eat. I wondered if I ate so I could prolong my own torture. I should have withered away over a year ago. Most of my clothes hardly fit. This was the diet from hell. Some women would be jealous. What is it they say, “There are two diets, the break-up diet or death?” Both have a way of losing the pounds, at least for me.

Since I wasn’t fortunate enough to be in the car during the accident, I guess it could be considered a break-up, though not by choice.

Pouring a cup of coffee, I heard a knock at the door. When I opened it, there he was… Mr. Painter Man, Joe, as he introduced himself.

“I noticed your house could use a coat of paint. I’d like to help you restore it, if I could.”

The first thing I noticed was his deep, dark blue eyes and his mesmerizing presence. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t play hide-and-seek behind my door when he was standing right in front of me. I didn’t have an answer for him. In fact, I appeared to have lost all my senses.

“Ma’am, would you like help?”

“Would I like help?” I said inside my mind. I just asked for it a few minutes earlier, wondering if this funk would ever end.

“Ma’am?”

I came back to reality and the words just came out without my fighting or thinking about them. “Yes, I would.”

“As I said, my name is Joe, and you are?”

“Re-bec-ca,” I said slowly as if I needed to sound out my own name.

“It’s nice to meet you Re-bec-ca,” he mimicked and then smiled. “I’ll take a look around the outside and let you know what it needs.”

“How about interior work?” I asked.

“I can help you with whatever you need.”

I noticed his answer seemed solemn, like a real promise. Somehow, I felt as though he was answering my deeper thoughts without any knowledge of my situation. I stopped and asked myself, “Why am I thinking he’s the answer to my prayers?” He’s a painter for God’s sake. Maybe I’m just hearing what I want to hear. I closed the door as he turned to walk the property.

I followed his progress from inside the house. I needed to see him. He was an intriguing character. Not that he looked strange like a circus act or something, not that I wanted to continue this game of hide-and-seek, but there was just something that made you look at him.

I heard him whistle out a few times as he stood by the back gate. I concluded he was searching for a dog. Obviously deciding that there wasn’t one, he made his way through the gate and continued to look around.

Standing by the pool that held a layer of algae around the waterline, he shook his head. I felt slightly embarrassed, as though he were looking at my dirty linens or ragged underwear. Wow! I had a feeling. I felt alive… embarrassed but alive.

Then Joe did something that I couldn’t understand. He stood completely still for a moment, raised his arms outward from his side, closed his eyes and slowly turned in place, completing a circle. The posture was almost saintly, like Jesus on the cross. He stood still for at least two minutes with his arms outward and motionless, his eyes closed.

      Upon opening his eyes, he looked straight at me. Again, I hid, moving quickly away from the window. Knowing I’d been caught, I decided to just go out the back door and see what Joe had to say.

When I got to the backyard, he was gone. I could hear the rapping of the knocker on the front door, so I hastily made my way through the house and was out of breath by the time I swung the door open.

      “It’s a beautiful place you have here, Rebecca.” Then he hesitated.

I couldn’t help but fill the void, “But?”

      “There’s a lot of work to be done here on many levels.”

      I wasn’t sure what he meant by “many levels” and I sure didn’t want to ask.

     “You asked about the interior. May I come in?”

      I was nervous. He could have been a psycho killer for all I knew. I realized he was working on the neighbor’s house, so he must be trustworthy, but this marked the first time since the

funeral that a man planned to cross the threshold of my front door. I was scared, but I had to get over it. How was the work going to be accomplished if the workman didn’t come in?

I stood aside as he entered. Stopping at the base of the stairwell, he looked at the worn-out steps, the mostly-gone finish on the railing and the paint on the walls that was marred by huge,

long cracks. He turned and walked into the living-room. I laughed inside a little when I caught myself say living-room… as if anyone had really lived here in a long time.

“Will you show me around the rest of your beautiful home?”

Okay, now I knew he was certifiably crazy. Even I could see that there wasn’t anything beautiful about this place. At the exact instant this thought went through my head, Joe stopped in his tracks and turned to me.

“It really is beautiful, like all of life. It’s just a bit used and worn, but the beauty is still here. Everything needs to be refreshed now and then.”

He turned and we continued making our way through the house. As we approached my bedroom, I had to stop him.

“You can’t go in there right now,” I said, closing the door to the room. I didn’t intend to be utterly embarrassed by his seeing my dirty linens wadded on an unmade bed. Depression? I was a case study, I tell you.

Here I was feeling again… still embarrassment… but feeling. Why was I embarrassed? I revisited the first time I ever had a boy in my room. I’d made sure it was clean because I wanted to make a good impression.

But I’m not trying to impress this guy. I don’t know him from Adam. He’s kind of attractive, well built, but I’m too old to be won over by looks. A man has to have depth to catch my attention. Robert, Robert had depth. That’s why we could talk on the phone for hours before either of us knew what the other looked like.

I knew nothing of Joe except he was a painter and was willing to work. If we agreed to terms, work is definitely what he’d be doing.

When we entered Jake’s room, he stopped and looked around. It was the perfect room for a teenage boy. His trophies from baseball and football all lined a shelf. Awards were a big part of

Jake’s life. Robert was a very involved father and, when he was younger, he was quite an athlete himself.

We closed the door and then entered Jenny’s room. Joe was quiet. The dust was thick. The Barbie house and dolls were still sitting the way Jen had left them. It was like they were expecting her to come back at any moment.

“How are you holding up?”

“What?” I asked.

“Everything is going to be okay, you know,” he reassured me.

Again, his voice was so solemn that it somehow eased my mind. It was strange, but I felt so okay with him knowing that things weren’t okay. As we turned to walk back downstairs, he put his hand on my shoulder in a very comforting way and spoke softly.

“It’s time.”

I didn’t have to ask what it was time for, I knew instinctively.

The agreement we made was unusual in its simplicity, like an arrangement from “bygone” days. Joe would charge $40 a day. I had to make lunch and dinner, and he would stay in the garage on a cot. He let me know in no uncertain terms that he was not dangerous. He wouldn’t enter the house unless I asked him. All his meals were to be served on the deck in the backyard.

I was skeptical. Who works for $40 a day plus meals and a place to sleep? A cot? In the garage? Strange! Cheap labor, but strange.

I agreed to his terms though I hadn’t cooked for anyone in years. I remembered cooking, throwing really elegant Thanksgiving and birthday parties. Now it would be dinner for two. I stopped with that thought. Dinner for two? He never said I needed to eat with him. Recipes started racing through my mind. What the hell am I going to cook? What does he like? Why

would he not come in the house? He’s already been in once. There was a knock at the door.

“The garage is locked. Do you have a key to the side door?” Joe inquired, wasting no time in getting settled.

I got the key from a nearby drawer and handed it to him. Looking out the door, I saw Joe’s bicycle with some kind of wagon attached to it.

“I’m bringing in some of my tools and my sleeping bag. I’ll keep them in the garage with me.”

I nodded okay and he went on his way, but then turned to me.

“I like to get an early start when I’m working. I’ll be up and ready to start by 7:00.”

Again, I nodded as he rolled his bike toward the backyard. Geez, I hope I’m doing the right thing.

As night drew near, I was admittedly uncomfortable with a stranger sleeping in my garage. I forgot to mention how little room there was in there. Robert and I never parked our cars in the garage because of all the junk we’d collected over the years… a lot of the kid’s toys that we couldn’t seem to part with. What in the world I was going to do with a tricycle was beyond me. I just didn’t want to part with the memory.

There were more things, things Robert and I brought to the marriage when we first moved in together. Everything was special in one way or another. Though his furniture had gone directly into the garage, and was never used, it was still a piece of Robert.

While in the kitchen I peeked out the window and saw Joe with the pool cleaning net, skimming out leaves and other debris. Before I knew it, he had a small pile of trash beside the pool. Though I could still see the algae, the pool was obviously 10 times better than it had been. Suddenly, he stopped his cleaning as though someone was calling him and he was looking for the voice. He dropped the skimmer and did that thing with his arms. It was as if he was asking the heavens, “What do you want me to do now?”

He stood still for a few minutes. I felt he had to know I was watching. How could he not know? I would think everyone with a stranger in their backyard would have to look and see what’s happening. When he turned to look toward the house, I stood my ground at the window, no more hide-and-seek. He smiled at me and proceeded to clean up the trash beside the pool.

I woke up a few times during the night to peer out the bedroom window. Everything was quiet. When morning came, I found myself out of bed just before 6:30 for the first time in years.

Joe walked out of the garage and stretched for a moment. Hopping on his bicycle, he headed out the driveway. I had no clue where he was going, but he did say he’d start by 7:00. We’d see how true he is to his word.

I dressed and went downstairs to make some coffee. Coffee was the only kind of pick-me-up I was willing to let entice me into a good frame of mind.

A short while later, I heard the bicycle brakes squealing as I opened the back door.

“Good morning, Rebecca.”

I nodded. He informed me that he went to the local hardware store a few blocks over. He wanted to get some stripper for the stairwell.

“Since you’ll be doing the stairs, I figured you wouldn’t want a lot of sanding. The stripper will set and the old varnish will come right off.”

“I’m doing the stairs?”

“I knew you’d want to. Making new steps on fresh stairs,” he paused, “it’s all part of getting where you need to go.”

I stood silent. He expected me to do the stairs, to strip the stairs. I never did this kind of work before. Reading my mind, he responded. “There’s a first time for everything. It’ll be good for

you. It truly is what you need.”

     “What I need?” I thought to myself. “How does he know what I need?” Before I knew it, Joe was showing me how to apply the stripper.

     “You only want to do half the stairwell at a time. This way you can still use the stairs without getting stripper on your shoes.”

He gave me a pair of gloves and a paintbrush. I began applying stripper as he went outside to work. Starting at the top of the stairs, I worked my way down, half a step at a time. As the

stripper began to work, I took my first break.

In the backyard, I watched Joe working in the pool. He was scrubbing the algae off of the tiles. I had a half-naked man in my pool. I turned away as I tried to talk.

“I’m done applying the stripper, now what?”

There was silence. Was he gone? Why wasn’t he answering?

I turned and looked at him.

“It’s okay to look at me. Surely, you’ve seen a man’s chest before.”

I looked at him. “Yes, I’ve seen a man’s chest before. I’m just not used to having anyone in my pool.”

“Rebecca, look at me.”

He began walking out of the pool and I wasn’t sure that he was dressed, so I looked away.

“I’ve got trunks on, Rebecca.”

I looked and sure enough he did.

“Rebecca. You’re a grown woman. You’ve seen a man before, presumably without clothes. Well, I have clothes. I told you, I won’t do anything that offends or frightens you. With me, you are safe.”

I took a deep breath and hesitated before asking, “I finished applying the stripper. What now?”

“You wait for a little bit before scraping the varnish from the steps.” He paused, “Before you erase the pattern you laid down on those steps, I’d like you to do something.”

I was almost afraid to ask, but he did reassure me that I was safe while he was here.

“What is it?”

“When you look at the steps, remember.”

I didn’t get it. Remember what? They’re steps for walking up. I didn’t say any of this aloud, but I’m sure the look on my face relayed my thoughts and must have screamed out, “Are you crazy!”

“There’s life in those stairs, you know.”

I turned and walked back into the house. Standing in front of the stairs, I just looked at the way I had painted the stripper on half the stairwell. He’s crazy, Rebecca. Get rid of him and call

Gillian for her referral.

I picked up my gloves and the scraper he’d given me. Just before I started scraping, I heard my son call out.

“Mom! Mom, where are you? Mooooooooom!” Jake’s voice would carry throughout the house. It was a precious moment that I always loved. I stood there and looked at the stairs again. I remembered Jake’s very first venture up these stairs wearing his little white baby boots. Step by step, he’d balance himself with his feet on one step and his hands on the steps above him. I was right behind him, congratulating his upward progress.

I could see the wheel spinning in his mind, trying to figure how he would descend the stairs. Hands first? I don’t think so. He learned quickly and went feet first, balancing as he went

down.

Then there was Jenny. She was probably conceived on these stairs. Robert and I made love all over the house, but the stairs were especially fun.

These stairs had seen so much of the life we lived. I almost didn’t want to erase the worn varnish now. I wanted the path to remain. I had fond memories of the life we lived upstairs, as well as the world it took us to when we came down. I went back outside, to ask Joe.

“Can you come look and make sure it’s ready to scrape off?” Joe got out of the pool and dried himself off. Following me to the stairs, he took the scraper and tested the surface.

“It’s ready, but before you scrape away, know that your memories aren’t on these stairs. They’re right here,” pointing to my mind.

How did he know to tell me to look at the stairs? How did he know the wonderful recalled feelings I would find here? He just smiled and as he headed toward the back door, he said, “Scrape away when you’re sure you’ve captured your memories.”

I stood there silently and then I knelt. With the scraper in hand, I knew it was alright to erase the worn layers. My eyes welled up as the varnish being scraped away revealed a life being swept clean after all these years.

By lunch, I had one side scraped away and had set the stripper on the other half of the stairs. No longer would these stairs reveal a life worn and torn.

The stairs wouldn’t talk, but the rest of the house was another story. There was so much to do. It was overwhelming for me.

Standing in front of the kitchen sink rinsing my hands after preparing a couple of sandwiches, I noticed Joe skimming the pool again and then he began pouring a measured amount of liquid into the pool. Chlorine, I presumed.

I took the sandwiches and iced tea on a tray, onto the deck.

“Joe,” I called out, “lunch is ready.”

“I’ll be right there.”

He went behind the gate, which led to the pool generator. I heard him shifting some things around and then the generator came on. After washing his hands at the hose faucet, he joined

me on the deck.

“I guess that means my pool is going to be warm at some point?”

“In a few hours your pool will be warm and your Jacuzzi will be hot.”

He pulled up a seat and sat down.

“I hope you like iced tea. The sandwiches are ham and cheese.”

He smiled, “Thank you for making lunch.”

I took a good look at the pool area and noticed how nice and clean it was. Everything was in order. Is this what he’s going to do? Is my life going to be put in order? What’s that going to feel

like? It’s been so long!

“Why did you start with the pool, Joe?”

“Because of the water. People drink water to hydrate their bodies, to cleanse their system, to even wash or bathe themselves. Water is the fountain of youth. Treat it with respect. Water anywhere in your life can bring you peace. People everywhere flock to admire waterfalls, beaches, rivers and lakes. It’s also probably the one of two natural forces that can decide your fate. You can go without food for six weeks, but barely a few days without water.”

“Is your sandwich okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

I paused a moment as I looked at Joe. “How did you know I would be able to see life in the stairs?”

He hesitated, “A little birdie told me.”

“Come on, really,” I said. “I needed that; you know.”

His eyes were welled up a little and he half-heartedly smiled and then whispered, “I know.”

We finished lunch and went back to work. In front of the stairs again, I looked at the other half which I would try to strip before dinner. Shoot, dinner. What am I going to serve? Oh well,

I’ll figure it out.

Right when I said, “I’ll figure it out.” I looked at the stairwell railing. I recalled Robert leaning on the rail when we’d had another small argument over my going back to work. He was tying his tie as he leaned over the rail, looking at me.

“One day you’ll regret having gone back to work,” his voice was a little harsh.

“I just need this,” I snapped back.

“What you need is to figure out what’s more important, our kids or your ego. You don’t need a corporate ladder. We’ve got everything we need.”

In the midst of it all, I realized he was right. I stood there silently and calmed myself. Looking up at him, I replied, “Let me just go to this meeting, then Thursday we’ll meet in Florida and fly out from there. While on vacation, I promise you, I’ll figure it out.”

I stood there with tears streaming down my face. Grabbing the scraper, I tried desperately to scrape away where Robert had stood begging me to let go of my ego and give my all to our family. I never got a chance to figure it out. The choice was made for me.

After a couple more hours into it, I was all scraped out. I’m sure the next step would be sanding everything to a fine, smooth surface, then re-stain. For now, I was done with the stairs and headed for the kitchen.

Opening the freezer, I realized it was bare.

Pizza! I hadn’t ordered a pizza in years. I don’t think there’s a man alive who won’t eat pizza. Geez, I thought, I’m so out of the loop when it comes to food for two.

I went outside and wound up circling the house looking for Joe. I caught up with him on the side. He was up on a ladder removing the screens from all the windows. He informed me that

some of them needed replacing while others just needed a good cleaning.

“What do you think of pizza for dinner?” I asked hopefully.

As usual, he smiled, “I’m a guy. Just a note for reference, I’ll eat pretty much anything.”

“That’s what I thought.” I went in to order.

He insisted that we eat by the Jacuzzi. We could wade our feet. Instantly I thought, okay, this is something a girlfriend might want to do. I wonder if he’s gay.

The bubbles formed along the edges like they hadn’t done in years. The Jacuzzi was hot like it hadn’t been in years. Then a message flashed in my head, “Life is suddenly like it hasn’t been

in years. Hop on board.”

I decided to share with Joe, “I saw some more of my life when I was working on the stairs.” I paused. “It was an argument about my working or being here for the kids. I chose work, and before I could change my mind to be a full-time mom again, I…”

Two tears streamed down my cheeks… one down each cheek as if in a race to fall off my face.

Groping for words, I started again, “Well, the opportunity was no longer available. By now, you’ve seen the rooms. I know you’ve figured it out. A single woman in a house, two kids’ rooms full of stuff, a master bedroom unfit to enter and not much normal going on.”

“How long have they been dead?”

“Four years.”

Joe was silent. “Have you ever worked death backwards?”

Death backwards? I turned the words over in my mind. “How do you work death backwards?”

“A woman whom I know was so angry when her husband left her that she used to berate him as often as possible. In reality she was a miserable person to be around until one day her husband had enough and left. The woman used their kids as pawns in this vicious game. One of the things she would fire at him was the question, “Why did we even have kids?” His reply was simple, “Because we wanted them.” The question I posed to her was, “Would you be posing this question if he had died?” She looked at me like I was a nutcase. There are people who experience death for real and it changes their lives. They no longer see things as possessions belonging only to them. They realize that life is precious, and to be shared and lived.”

“What does this have to do with me? How do I work this death thing backwards?”

“Why did you give up living because of their death? Would you have given up living if they were still here? How you react in any situation is because of your emotions. Had the woman’s husband died, she never would have asked the question regarding the kids. What questions are you asking that aren’t being answered? You know exactly why they’re not here, so maybe the question you need answered regarding death is the one you’re not answering or willing to accept.”

Joe got up out of the pool to throw the pizza box away. When he came back, he took my hand.

“Come with me.”

I stood up and we headed into the pool. The water felt freezing cold against the warm legs I’d just extracted from the Jacuzzi.

Once in the pool, Joe told me to meet him at the bottom at the eight-foot marker and to do as he did. This was kind of weird, but I did it.

At the bottom of the pool, Joe was sitting almost Indian style trying to keep from floating upward. He was letting his air out, little by little. I did as he had instructed. I tried to sit Indian style and release some air little by little. He reached out his hand and I did the same, grabbing his hands.

I was certain a minute was about up, and even though I’m a woman endowed with a healthy bosom, my lung capacity was less than athletic. I needed to surface. I tried to let go of Joe’s hands, but he wouldn’t let go of mine. I looked at him and felt panic set in. He looked me in the eyes while I struggled to be released. Finally, he let go of my hands. Quickly, I headed for the surface but he caught my ankle and held me a few seconds longer before letting go.

Breaking the surface, I coughed up water as I tried desperately to take in air. Coughing hard, spitting out water and coughing some more, I finally got control of my breathing. I turned to look for him but he wasn’t beneath or beside me.

After what seemed like forever, I caught sight of him surfacing at the shallow end. He stepped out of the pool and began to dry off.

Angrily I shouted, “Why did you do that? I could have drowned.”

He walked over to where I was hanging on the edge.

“You’ve lived in apathy for nearly four years. Apathy is right next door to death. You’ve moved up from apathy and began to grieve. I know you have because you just showed me desire. We just worked death backwards. Had you died, you wouldn’t have to grieve or be totally apathetic now, would you? Yep, something tells me you want to live. You’ve got desire stirring in that mind of yours. You better watch out. You just might get your life back.”

He walked away into the garage. I pulled myself along the edge of the pool and sat on the shallow steps. I had to go over everything he’d just said. I’ve been apathetic for four years. Day after day, I’ve wondered what possessed me to go back to work. Why wasn’t I in the car with Robert and the kids? Then it hit me, the question of death. What if I had been in the car and they died, but I didn’t. Just because they died doesn’t mean that I would have. Why have I punished myself for some presumed outcome?

Joe came back out of the garage and came to sit beside me, on the edge of the pool.

“Earlier, I told you about water, one of the most natural powers in the world. Air and Water were challenging each other one day. They were arguing over who was more powerful. Water said, “Watch me run over this dam and destroy thousands of lives.” Air just laughed and said, “Well, watch this,” and became a tornado wiping out thousands of homes and destroying lives in five different states, all on the same day. Then Water said, “That’s not so tough. I can go away, create a drought and everyone eventually cries to have me come back in the form of rain. They can’t do without me for a few days.” Air just laughed and said, “See that man over there. You may fill his lungs, but someone will come along to push you out so he can have me. Trust me, people can go days without you, but never more than a few minutes without me.””

“And your point?” I asked.

“You’ve proven that you want to survive. Your survival mode kicked in. If you truly wanted to die, you’d cut yourself off from these two natural powers. Remember, always respect air and

water. They demand it. Never take them for granted.”

I was speechless at first, but finally had to admit what I’d learned. “I worked death backwards.”

He just looked at me, waiting.

“I don’t know that I would have died in the accident. I told myself I should be dead. I now see that I’ve been living as near death as possible, acting out my innermost thoughts, I lived as though I were dead.”

Joe put his hand on my shoulder in comfort and silently acknowledged my truth.

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