The Greatest Treasure of All

It wasn't until Dr. Patrick Henry Gates returned to the cool silence of his two story colonial style home that the feeling hit him. He wasn't certain what it was at first, but by the time he had showered, dressed in warm pajamas and a robe, and settled onto the sofa with a cup of coffee it was there. He picked up the remote control and idly flipped through a couple of channels. Nothing caught his attention; not even the historical programs that he and Ben loved to sit and laugh at for their inaccuracies. He and Emily had done that sometimes, too. Making a disinterested face, he switched off the television and turned his attention to the stack of newspapers that had collected while he was away. He picked up the one on the top of the pile and scanned the headlines while he took a soothing sip of his coffee. Again, he couldn't seem to focus and it was starting to bother him. He pulled a crocheted afghan over his lap before again attempting to watch something—anything—on television.

Patrick couldn't put his finger on the exact cause of this melancholy and it bothered him more than the melancholy itself. Something was missing or unfinished, as if he had forgotten to switch off a light or close the garage door. He frowned in thought as he glanced across the room to the windows, watching a soft Maryland rain patting against the glass and distant thunder softly rumbling a warning of an impending storm.

Patrick was so absorbed by the gentle sound of the rain that he didn't hear a car pulling up and into the driveway. A slight figure in a black coat meandered from the car toward the door, hesitating before the brick steps for a couple of seconds, and slowly soaking in the rain and the dark. The light flanking the front door punctured the darkness of the night and flooded a small area before the door in warm gold light. For a split second, the visitor considered retreating to the car and thought better of it, taking a breath and then taking the final steps that brought her within reach of the door. Briskly she knocked and then waited, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as the temperature crept just a little bit colder.

Patrick was startled by the sound, immediately setting the now empty coffee cup on the end table beside the discarded newspaper and rose to answer the door. He peered out the lace curtains that framed the window beside the front door and stood for a moment in surprise. It was the last person in the world he expected to see and the ache he had felt before was returning in earnest. He opened the door and found himself face to face with his ex wife, her eyes cast down and curly blonde hair slowly going limp in the rain. She clutched her coat closed with gloved hands, and appeared to swallow hard before looking up at him.

"Em? Is everything all right?" He asked, gesturing for her to come inside. He watched her enter, expecting at any moment that she might snap at him as was so often the case, but tonight she was quiet. She finally looked up at him with those sharp gray eyes that sometimes stormed like the Atlantic, or, like tonight, were soft after the worry and fear of the past week.

"I got home and couldn't seem to rest," she said finally. "I thought I'd…come and see if you were having the same problem." She couldn't seem to maintain eye contact, frequently averting her eyes in embarrassment. If she wanted to know if he'd been as restless as she was, she could have called. Patrick took a deep breath and nodded, gesturing again for her to come join him in the living room. Emily shed her coat and gloves, a little surprised when Patrick guided the coat from her shoulders and took it for her. She gingerly sat down on the sofa and lightly fingered the afghan.

"I didn't know you still had this," she murmured. "I remember making it. Ben was just a baby."

"Yes," Patrick said with a fond smile. "I remember." Emily blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light in the room and she noticed the program he had been watching on the long forgotten television.

"What are you watching?" she asked, her British accent like a dainty lilt on her voice. Patrick joined her on the sofa as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms listlessly. Patrick shifted his weight to free the edge of the afghan that he was sitting on and carefully leaned over to wrap it around Emily's shoulders, a gesture that made both of them momentarily smile. There was a pronounced crackle across the sky outside, followed by a flash. Both Emily and Patrick glanced instinctively at the window. The storm was getting closer.

"I really wasn't watching it…just…seemed to need the noise," Patrick replied, fumbling with the remote control.

"You always did," she replied. There was companionable silence for a few moments as Emily slowly relaxed against the back of the overstuffed sofa. Patrick, too, leaned back; glancing at Emily for just a moment before she very slowly leaned toward him, reclining against his shoulder as she had done days before when they were finally safe after escaping from Cibola, the City of Gold. Overwhelmed and exhausted, she had rested against him and he in turn had rested his head against hers. The empty, unfinished feeling waned as Patrick wrapped his left arm around Emily and she responded by inching closer to him and relaxing just a little more as she closed her eyes. She seemed to be absorbing his warmth to fend off the rain's chill and Patrick couldn't resist laying his cheek against the top of her head and taking a deep, even breath. There was a space of indeterminate time before Emily spoke again.

"When is Ben coming home?" she asked softly. Patrick smiled as he opened his blue eyes to meet her pale gray ones. He smiled and replied, "He moved back in with Abigail. I never thought I'd get all those boxes out of the house again." She chuckled. Emily turned her head to face the television, noting that the program had ended and another had begun. She glanced up slowly when Patrick covered her right hand with his left and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Em…I know that I've not always been there for you and for Ben…but you need to know that I loved you both very much. I…I never stopped loving you, no matter where I went," Patrick said. "The two of you were always on my mind and in my heart."

"Then why were you gone so much?" Emily replied, sitting up to look at him properly. "Each new exploit took you away from me and away from Ben and despite everything I said to you I never felt like it really sank in. You never seemed to understand what it did to us to watch you pack and walk away like that." Emily was now hugging her arms around her shoulders again, biting her lower lip in the effort it took not to raise her voice. Patrick was quiet for a moment, swallowing hard as he watched her struggle not to cry.

"I can't change what happened and the decisions I made. I can only explain to you that if it's one thing I learned from those treasure hunts and exploits, it was that I was so lucky to have a wife who knew that same thrill—understood the rush of discovery. I didn't understand that I was hurting you," Patrick said. "You were the whole world to me, Emily, you and Ben, and you still are my world." Emily struggled to decide what to say as a tear coursed down her face. Patrick stroked the tear away with his thumb and lightly kissed her cheek where the tear had been.

"If finding Cibola taught me anything, it's that something's been missing in my life for the past thirty years that treasure hunts and history and even our son couldn't fill. All the treasure in the world couldn't replace the treasure I had in you, Emily," Patrick said. Emily sniffled softly as she continued to cry, reaching up to bring his face the rest of the way to hers in a soft kiss. Patrick pulled back to stroke her hair and his expression changed to one of concern.

"You're shaking…honey, what's wrong?" he murmured.

"Until Cibola," she whispered, "I didn't realize just how much I missed you!" Emily wept as Patrick gingerly pulled her into his arms to hold her, rocking her gently and whispering that it was all right.

"I never stopped…loving you, either," Emily sobbed, clutching Patrick's shoulders and burying her face in his neck. Minutes later, she had calmed herself enough to sit back, still holding tightly to Patrick's hands and shuddering away the last of the tears before Patrick kissed her again, this time running his hand through her hair and holding her close. The kiss continued for only seconds before there was a loud crack of thunder and then a blinding flash of light and the electricity in the house went out, startling them. The two sat back, looking around in the darkness and then after a moment of silence, laughter bubbled through the quiet as the two rose from the sofa in search of candles and flashlights.

The two were still chuckling when Patrick returned to the sofa with a flashlight in his hand and watched Emily light one more candle, making a total of five on the coffee table in front of them. Emily reclined back into Patrick's embrace and sighed contentedly as he lifted her left hand to his lips and softly kissed it as they quietly observed the candle light. Relaxing minutes in the warmth of the candle light passed before Emily reached up to gently turn Patrick's face to hers. She smiled, making the glow of the light dance in her eyes as Patrick ducked to kiss her. She responded quickly to this, adjusting her position to make it easier for both of them to continue indulging the kiss, filling in the awful gap in their hearts that 32 years had created.

Patrick smoothed his hands over her shoulders, pushing the light-weight jacket off and revealing the thin tank top she wore beneath it. Emily sat up, making Patrick lean back against the stuffed cushions of the sofa while she let the jacket slip from her arms and discarded it onto the cushions beside them. She straddled his lap and took his face in her hands, smoothing his cheeks with her thumbs before leaning into him to kiss him again, her nimble hands working open his robe and then the pajama top. As she worked, Patrick let his hands roam across her back, down her narrow waist and over her thighs, subtly encouraging her to continue.

"Oh, Emily," he whispered between deep kisses. "My treasure…I've missed you so much…" His face was still close to hers as he spoke, and he playfully nudged her nose with his own and stole another soft kiss. Emily leaned back to free her arms and lift the tank top over her head, tossing the garment to the floor. When she moved, the flashlight that Patrick had left on the cushion beside him slid to the floor with a thud, extinguishing the light and making the reunited lovers laugh again. Patrick took the opportunity to sit forward, swinging his lithe ex wife around and lowering her to the sofa beneath him. He smiled as he sat up to abandon the robe and the pajama top. Patrick took his time softly stroking Emily's skin, relishing her reactions as she twisted and arched her back to press herself against his hands. He lowered his lips to her chest, slowly kissing a path around each of her breasts as he worked his hands beneath her to unhook the bra. She shrugged it off, deliriously attempting to help him get where he was going.

"I'll never make you wait for me again," he murmured, nuzzling her neck and kissing a line from her collar bones to her jaw and spending time on her earlobes and the shell-like contours of her upper ear as she clutched the stuffed arm of the sofa above her head. Patrick sat back, again observing Emily in sheer passion as he went to work unbuttoning her slacks. She sat up at this, pressing him upright so that she could do the same to him.

"See that you don't," she teased. Patrick smiled and both took only moments to finish disrobing. What remained of the evening was drowned in adrenaline and candle light as the two adventurers conquered one another again and again.

Patrick awoke at sunrise, the sunlight turning Emily's curls to a messy pile of spun gold. She was fast asleep on his chest, her head nestled down in the warmth of his skin and her breaths deep and even. The two were haphazardly covered with the afghan, and the candles had long ago extinguished themselves.

"What time is it?" Emily whispered, startling Patrick. Patrick hugged her with the arm he had fallen asleep with draped around her and kissed the top of her head before groping for his cell phone. Not only was it intolerably early, but more surprising was that the phone registered three missed calls from Ben.

"What is it?" Emily murmured, squinting to look at the display. "Oh, my…"

Emily sat up, pulling the afghan with her to cover herself and keep a little of the warmth she was so comfortable in. She excavated her own phone out of the pocket of her slacks and it, too, had several missed calls from their son.

"We're in trouble or so it would seem…" Patrick said softly.

"I wonder if he was trying to make sure we were all right with the power going out and all," Emily said, resuming her place snuggled between Patrick and the back of the sofa.

"I think we made it through the night just fine," Emily continued, closing her eyes again as Patrick chuckled and closed his own eyes again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Patrick said. "How about a nice hot shower to get the day off right?"

"Mmmm…" Emily drowsily purred. "In a few hours, maybe. For now, I want to be here, asleep with you."

"That," he said happily, "is a good idea."