Free Knowing His Secret by K. C. Falls Page A

He had planned with her and dreamed with her. Irrational though it was, I was jealous of a dead woman. The only woman, apparently, who ever earned the right to expect anything out of Tristan King.
    I managed to hit the Upper West Side by seven-thirty thanks to my early start. I avoided the worst of rush hour and was home by just a little after eight. I got the Eep squeezed into a parking spot in front of the Caperelli's house and walked the few yards to our stoop. Mom was waiting at our open door.
    It was so g reat to hug my strong, beautiful mother. After the emotional upheaval of the past few weeks, I found her more comforting than ever. My parents are solid and everlasting--a constant reminder of goodness and love in the world. They are not complicated or mysterious; they're the kind of blessing every child should know. I embraced my mother with gratitude just as I always did when I returned home from time in the Berkshires.
    Mom and Dad had always understood that Jenn and I worked the Berkshires because it was a good way to make great pay in a pretty setting not too far from home. New York City is not a place with abundant summer jobs. The Berkshire Hills offered us jobs in the arts and recreation that we couldn't match anywhere else. But we were always aware that the area belonged to people like Suze and Nicky, Brian and Cole, and yes, Tristan. It was always a good thing to come home to a place where we didn't feel like strangers.
    Mom and I had a cup of coffee on the stoop and watched the neighborhood bustle alive with kids on their way to school, people scurrying off to work and shop. Mrs. Caperelli came over with a coffee cake from the bakery and we went inside to share it. Mom gave her an update on Dad. He'd called at seven to complain about being cooped up in a hospital and to tell her that the nurses were all angels. He said the meals weren't as bad as people always say they are, but to bring an Italian sub from Delmonico's Deli when she came. Mrs. C would make sure the report was properly 'distributed' through the neighborhood.
    My Dad was sitting up in bed watching the news when we got to his room.
    "Daddy!" I hugged him gently, trying not to move him too much. He had his left arm in a sling and I could see the bandages around his rib cage. There was a cut above his right eye held together with stitches. I hated to see him like that.
    "What are you doing here, Angelcakes? Marjorie, I'm fine. Why did you call Raina?"
    "Mom called to keep me from worrying when I saw you getting beat up on the news. She didn't ask me to come, in fact she told me not to. But I wanted to be here."
    "Well you're a sweetheart and I'm always glad to have my little girl home."
    "I wish it was different circumstances. Dad, you need to stay out of these messes. You're getting older…" It frightened me to think of how many close calls he'd had over the years.
    At that he laughed harder that he should have until his ribcage stopped him. But he was still grinning when he threatened to put me over his knee and show me just how old and weak he was.
    "Daddy, you've never laid a hand on me, so I would have nothing to compare it to."
    We talked most of the morning away and shared the Italian sub plus his hospital lunch among the three of us. He was right, the hospital lunch wasn't half bad. After lunch, I left them to nap a little--he in his bed and she in the recliner next to it. I watched them doze off together just as they did most Saturdays and Sundays after lunch.
    I wondered if Tristan would ever get to that point with…well, with anyone. Did he and Elsa take a half-time nap during Sunday football like my sister Amy and her husband Phil? Or did he and Elsa nod off poolside after a two-Mimosa brunch like Olivia and Ben?
    Try as I might, I couldn't stop wishing that somehow, some way I would take a cozy nap beside Tristan someday. I knew there'd be more sex. I knew I hadn't begun to experience the kinds of intimate pleasures his body could