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Chapter 1: Catherine

I never thought I could be as happy as I am now. The last three months have been wonderful. I must admit, I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop—something bad has to happen. Even with that in mind, I'm living like there is no tomorrow.

Every moment with Sara is precious and sacred. Each of us having come within a breath of death sorta puts things in perspective. If I had lost her—well, I don't know how I would have coped.

I find myself watching her more and more since she moved in with us. Sometimes, on those rare nights when I'm home and not working, I watch the light stream in through the curtains in our bedroom and fall across her features. She always looks so peaceful and childlike in that light. Or I manage to come home early and catch her dancing and singing around the living room when she thinks no one is watching. Watching her shower through the glass door is one of my favorite things to do—seeing how she moves her hands over her skin and through her hair.

As much as I enjoy each of those, I just discovered my new favorite sight. I'm standing in the doorway of our bedroom and she's standing in front of the mirror. She turns to look at her profile and it takes my breath away. She's smiling sheepishly as she holds the pillow in place underneath with arm and runs her other hand over the curved protrusion. Her smile turns to a frown and she takes the pillow out and tosses it back on the bed.

I watch her looking at her reflection a moment longer before deciding to approach her.

"Whatcha doing?" I query as I slide my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder.

"Just looking in the mirror. Nothing special." She takes a moment before adding, "I'm getting old. Look at me. I look like a hag next to you. Why would you want to be with this?" she moves her hand up and down to motion to her body.

"You're beautiful--whether you think it or not," I whisper in her ear. "And I'm incredibly lucky to have you."

We're looking at each other in the mirror, enjoying the comfortable silence that surrounds us. My hands roam over the small expanse of her stomach.

She groans, "I still think you're suffering some sort of permanent damage from California. It's either that or you're just crazy." She tries to twist out of my arms but I tighten my grip on her.

"Crazy in love with you," is my only answer. I loosen my grip on her and she turns instantly and slaps me lovingly on the shoulder.

"You're such a sap! Where do you come up with these things? Do you have a book around here where you're getting some new saccharin thing to say to me each day?" Her laugh echoes around the room as she backs me up against the bed and falls down on top of me.

I love the way her laugh sounds like sweet music and makes me happy to be alive. It's one of the things I've vowed to hear more of—to make her do more often.

"Do you really think I need a book to come up with things to say to the most beautiful woman in the world?" I pull back and look at her before adding, "You're all the inspiration I need."

She rolls off of me and heads to her side of the bed, pulling the covers back and climbing between them. I quickly follow suit, sliding over and draping an arm over her as I rest my head on her shoulder.

I can sense that Sara wants to talk to me (probably about the whole pillow under the shirt thing I witnessed that she doesn't know I witnessed). Her body language is speaking loud and clear. She's not asleep and not tossing. Every few minutes she lets out a deep sigh. Each time she does, I just snuggle deeper into her side and try not to let her feel how big the smile is on my face. I know that soon enough she'll broach the topic with me.

I don't have to wait too much longer.

"Aren't you even going to ask?" exasperation and frustration tinge the edges of her voice.

"Ask what, baby?" I try hard not to laugh.

She doesn't say anything. I wait. She still doesn't speak.

I resilience crumbles. I take a deep breath and take the plunge, "What's wrong, Sara?"

She faces me and I see a single tear roll down the side of her face, which instantly worries me.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

"I don't know if I can do it, Cath. I know you want to…and I really do want to, but I don't know if I can. What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm really bad? What if it turns out like me? What if…"

I lean forward and quickly kiss her to silence her rant. I pull back and she opens her mouth to speak, so I deftly place my lips against her. I run my tongue over her bottom lip before sliding it between hers. When she relaxes and starts to kiss me back, I bring my hand to her face and pull back.

"I assume you're talking about suggesting we have a baby."

She just nods her head.

"Sar, there are no guarantees and a million what if's when you have a baby. Lindsey wasn't planned and look what a joy she ended up being. And trust me, if there were two people not fit to be parents, they were me and Eddie. You and I, on the other hand, would make wonderful parents."

She's biting her bottom lip, an all-too endearing habit she has.

"Do you think it's too soon? Do you think we should wait? Or do you have doubts about us? That we won't make it this time either?"

"What?" she half shouts before basically jumping out of bed and going to stand in front of the window. "You…you seriously think I have doubts about us? After everything we just went through a few months ago—you can think I have doubts about us?"

I just lay there watching her standing by the window. She sighs heavily and turns her back to me, leaning her head to the side and resting it on the frame around the window.

Almost in a half-whisper she speaks, "You didn't grow up like I did, Cath. Lindsey didn't have to grow up like I did. I know I'm my mother's daughter, but what if I end up more like her than I can stand? I killed someone—a living, breathing, thinking someone—a few months ago." She pauses and turns to face me, "That means that on some level, I am already like her."

I've had enough of the whole doubting thing she has going on right now.

"You're nothing like her, Sara."

"How do you know? You never even met her," she says before turning back to stare blankly out the window. "She wasn't always the crazy woman who killed my father. She started out perfectly sane, too."

I sit up in the bed and pull the covers back, "Come here, babe."

She reluctantly joins me back in the bed. I put my arm around her and think about what it is that she really needs to hear right now.

"I don't think you really believe half of that stuff you're saying right now. We both know that you're not your mother. And yes, you did take a life. You took the life of the man that had killed almost everyone who had ever meant anything to you. The man who tortured me, tried to kill you, and who would have killed me if you hadn't found the strength to climb to that roof top. Babe, that doesn't make you weak and it certainly doesn't make you anything like your mother. You're a much strong person than she could have ever dreamt of being. She wasn't strong—she was a coward. She didn't face your dad, she killed him. And you've spent your whole life battling not to turn out like her. And you've done one helluva job."

"But…"

"I saw you…when you were standing in front of the mirror." She looks at me mutely, like I've grown two heads. "You were standing there, with a pillow under your shirt, looking at yourself—trying to picture what you'd look like if you were pregnant."

She blushes profusely. "You were watching me? Why didn't you say something?"

I place my hand over her stomach, "You took my breath away. I'll admit to having tried to picture you pregnant, a round full belly. My imagination didn't do justice to the sight of you standing there the way you were before I came in tonight. I have never seen anyone more beautiful. And you were smiling."

She covers my hand with hers, "I'm scared."

"I'm scared, too. We'd be crazy not to be scared," I assure her.

"What if I do something wrong?"

I can't help but laugh, "Frankly, I'll be surprised if you do anything right in the beginning."

"What if the kid hates me when he grows up?"

"Then you know you did something right, sweetie."

She looks at me like she's just realized she left the oven on while we're on vacation, "I've never changed a diaper before."

"You'll get plenty of practice," I say as I pull her closer to me. "Sara, it's not just about what I want. Yes, I want to have a baby with you—start our own family. But if you're not comfortable with it, I don't want us to try. We don't ever even have to talk about it again. I have you and Lindsey and I'm okay with that."

I kissed her temple and pulled the covers up around us. We both obviously have a lot to think about.

XXXX

Two months, give or take a few days, have passed since Sara and I had our little discussion about a baby. I've pretty much resigned myself to the belief that she's not ready for it. And chances are that if she's not ready now, she'll never be ready.

I suppose there are certain advantages to us not having a baby. I mean, I'm no spring chicken, but I don't see myself as elderly either. Still, if we had a baby now, I would definitely be elderly by the time he or she was in college. Dealing with Lindsey's rebellious teenage years has already taken years off of my life expectancy. I'm not entirely certain I have it in me to do all over again. And feedings at two in the morning? Not to mention an endless necessity to change diapers. Then there's all the hormones that come along with pregnancy. I know how bad I was and Sara's bound to be worse than me. I can't help but smile remembering how great the sex was when I was pregnant—and how often I wanted it. It's not like Sara and I need any help in that department.

Who am I kidding? As hard as I want to talk myself out of us having a baby, it's nearly all I can think about. Despite whatever reservations I have and Sara's list of reasons and concerns, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we'd be able to raise a happy, healthy and productive child. I'm not an age where it would be wise for me to be pregnant—too many complications could be encountered at my age (even if there are grandmothers running around out there having children).

Really, having the house to ourselves in a few years will be great. Not having to worry about parent-teacher conferences or what prom dress to buy will be nice. My insurance rates will settle down with a teenage driver. I won't have to worry about a block of ice settling in the pit of my stomach every time the phone rings and he's not home. I won't have to pretend not to like every guy she brings home just so that I can try to keep our little a girl a little girl for a while longer.

I'm sitting in the break room going over all of this in my mind when in walks the love of my life. She saunters over and gives me a quick peck on the cheek before moaning the word coffee and heading for a fresh pot.

She has a cup in hand and is about to pour a cup when she frowns and sits the pot back down. Instead, she reaches into the community refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of water. I notice her doing that quick motion to her mouth with her hand and taking a swig of water before tossing her head back.

She catches me looking at her and winks at me. "Headache?" I ask.

"No," she answers dismissively.

I study her for a moment. "Then what were you taking?"

"Nothing."

"Sara, you ran out of your pain killers weeks ago—and you said you didn't need any. So what did you take?" It feels like there's something she's not telling me. I'm not particularly fond of evasive behavior. I'm one of those worst-case scenario people. I'm already convinced that's she's hooked on hillbilly heroin. I can envision an intervention, rehab, a relapse and who knows what else.

She shrugs and sighs heavily. "You were right. I have a headache. I took something for it. Of course," she slams her water bottle down on the table right in front of me, "now it's even worse since you have to pretend this is the damn Spanish Inquisition and ask a million and one questions." She quickly turns on her heels and storms out of the room.

I'm still sitting there trying to figure out what the hell just happened when Greg walks in, takes one look at me and turns around and walks back out—more like sprints out. I sit there a few more minutes before picking the bottle of water up that Sara had none too delicately slammed down on the table in front of me and throw it angrily across the room.

Several days pass with me scrutinizing Sara's every move. On two more occasions I see her taking pills. Of course I don't dare broach the subject with her. Instead, I decide to do what any woman would do—snoop.

As soon as my shift is over, I walk into the locker room and head straight to Sara's locker. There's no chance of her walking in and catching me since she and Nick are each pulling a double today. I could, once again, ask her about what she's taking. Of course, she'd probably go completely postal again. I want to avoid another confrontation like the one earlier this week.

I take a deep breath and look around the locker room to make sure I am alone. I reach out, lift the latch on her locker and swing the door open. I can't help but smile at the pictures taped to the inside of her door. There's a picture of the team at Greg's birthday party, a picture of the two of us kissing, and a picture of us with Lindsey at the park. Remembering the real reason I'm standing in front of her now open locker, I start going through the things in her locker. There are a couple of clean shirts and pants wadded up and thrown in there haphazardly. After feeling around for a pill bottle, I come up empty. I'm about to shut the door, when I spy her extra boots in the bottom of the locker. I reach down and slide my hand inside one and then the other—finally coming out with a bottle. A quick glance at the label tells me everything I need to know. I close the door and drop the bottle in my purse.

XXXXX

"Good morning, sunshine," I say to her as she walks through the door practically dead on her feet.

She just eyes me suspiciously as she walks to the fridge and grabs the juice and pours herself a glass.

"There's fresh coffee there if you want some. I managed to con Greg out of enough of his secret stash. I thought you might like some."

She finishes her juice and rinses her glass before putting it in the dishwasher. "No coffee for me. I'm, uh, trying to cut back."

"Trying to cut back? Really? You've never passed up a cup of coffee in your life," I know I'm pushing my luck.

She shoves her hands into her pockets and looks at me crossly. "I am allowed to make changes, aren't I?"

I walk over to her and pull her into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetie, you're allowed to change anything you want to change. You don't have to drink coffee ever again," I stand on my tip-toes and kiss her lightly on the lips. "But you do need to take your vitamins." With that, I put the bottle of prenatal vitamins in her hand and head upstairs to our bedroom.