He is talking quietly with Bernard�s son, his hands gesturing with dominance. Nino is sullen, a pout ridiculously lush on those lips only a woman should have. He looks like a child, a spoiled child who will not relinquish his toy. Danny stills himself, gathering his patience, fighting the violence of his hot temper. Things are not going well, obviously. I don�t know what they are talking about. I tell myself that I don�t want to know. But I do. I need to know; I need to know how deep Danny has entered into his world of crime.

Thus far he has managed to keep himself clean of anything other than white-collar crimes. True, not a glowing recommendation, but he has no blood on his hands. He has yet to order a hit, or, thank God, perform one. I haven�t allowed myself to think about what I would do, how I would react if such a thing were to happen. I pray that it never will.

But I�m afraid. Carmen is always pushing him to commit more and more illegal activities � money extortion, threats, a few broken bones here and there, and, yes, an occasional lesson of death that need be taught. He has resisted her efforts, struggling to remain as high above her criminal filth as he can. But still she pushes. We both know why, but we haven�t discussed it.

Since Carmen has accepted me -- as much as she ever will, she knows that Danny will never leave me. She also knows that he will never force me to stay if I want to go. And she believes that once Danny takes that step and goes too far over the line, that I will have no choice but to walk away. Danny also believes this, which is why he fights so hard to remain as pure as he can, for me � to keep me, to keep my love.

Of the three of us, I�m the only one who questions whether or not I would walk away. I know that I should, but then if I did what I should, I would have been gone a long time ago. The question is whether I would? And I can�t bring myself to answer that question. I am afraid that the answer would disappoint the memory of my mother and all she taught me.

I suppose in my secret heart that I have answered the question then, by not facing it openly. I don�t believe that I could walk away from my husband, even if he were to do � I shut my mind down. I won�t think about this. I can�t. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, searching for peace. Idly my fingers twist and pull at my hands, and then I encircle the wedding band on my ring finger and my peace is found.

I open my eyes and Danny is walking towards me and as always my heart swells at the renewed sight of him. I thank God once again that I can see, that my blindness was only a temporary thing - to never have seen this face would have been one of my greatest losses. His gaze softens as he looks at me and I find myself smiling in return, thoughts of Carmen, and everything tied in within her, evaporating like mist on a sunny day. He is my sunshine, I think as he cups my face in his hands, his mouth covering mine.

Ever since Nino came back to town, Danny has been tense. He said that the way Nino returned is what worries him. He�d expected him to slink back into the fold with his tail between his legs, anxious to make amends for his nearly irreparable blunder. Had Bernard not so fully sweetened a forgiveness package for Carmen, Nino would be dead. Every one knows this.

His return wasn�t unexpected - it had been four months since the attempted bombing - but his attitude was. He was as cocky as before, if not more. And he baited Danny on a constant basis, from the petty - offering double-edged compliments to his choice of wife - to the dangerous - thinly veiled threats that Danny wouldn�t be around much longer.

Bernard tried to control him. Danny tried to ignore him, but the situation was getting worse. He was not letting up and it was becoming obvious that if Danny did not make a move to stop Nino�s assault soon, the families would begin to lose respect for him. A man could turn the cheek only so long before he was considered a coward and Danny was quickly reaching that turning point. He knew it. Carmen knew it and continually reminded him of that fact.

And I knew it.

Tonight, I saw Danny polishing his gun, checking the chambers, squeezing the trigger. I felt a chill run though me and I had to turn away, but he saw me and the torment and sorrow on his face brought me back into the room. Back into his arms. He held me, his face buried in my hair, his arms wrapped tightly about me. I closed my eyes and savored the feel, the scent of him � but pressed against my back, I could feel the hardness of the gun, still in his hand and it took everything in me not to pull away. Away from him.

His knuckles are red, there is some bleeding and upon his jaw is a dark bruise. He looks grim, but there is also a caged tension radiating violence and excitement. It scares me. It arouses me. And before I can think of what it means, I am clawing at his shirt, my lips hungrily fastening upon his flesh.

He pulls away slightly and there is surprise, strong enough to be called shock, in his eyes, but the desire is too intense in mine and he capitulates to my passion without a word. His lips are on mine, his hands underneath my skirt. And I am up in his arms, my legs wrapped about his waist. I bend down to him - a novel experience - and our mouths devour each other. I press against him, my body craving his touch. We tumble onto the bed and he cups my face in his hands.

I lay a kiss against one finger and then the next and I am tasting, loving the salty tang of his flesh. And then there is the blood from his knuckles in my mouth, but I don�t care because he has slipped my underwear off and his fingers are inside of me. All thoughts have fled my mind but Danny and Danny�s touch - sliding into me.

His fingers ease in slowly and I want to scream at him for more and just as I am about to, he picks up the tempo, his thumb feathering my clitoris while he pushes the palm of his hand against me. He fastens his mouth upon my nipple, through my shirt, my bra and I am pulling at his hair, my fingers entwined in the curls. My hips rise, pushing against him, wanting more, wanting release.

He knows me so well, my body, my needs that just when I am there, right at the precipice, he pulls away and sits back on his haunches. I gaze up at him, my legs splayed on either side of him, my skirt bunched up around my hips, my eyes glazed with desperate passion and he smiles. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he sucks slowly on them and that smile sends spirals of heat throughout my body.

Somehow, from somewhere I find the energy to rise and as I do, his eyes darken, his smile fades a bit and still he savors the taste of me on his fingers. I reach for the button of his pants, his zipper and I am frenzied, jerking them down, pulling at his boxers, needing to see him, touch him, feel him inside of me.

I look up at his face as my hand encircles his hard flesh and his eyes are closed, the smile a memory and his breathing comes in gasps. His hands curl about my waist and he pushes me down. My fingers slip away from him as he cups my breasts, as he parts my lips with his own, his tongue diving into my mouth. Once again, my hips are driving against his and now it is bare flesh upon flesh and my hand finds him again, guiding him into me. He breaks free from our kiss, his head buried in the crook of my neck as he moves inside of me, taking it slow, making it last. His hand falls from my face and a moment later, his finger once again slips inside of me.

Slowly he thrusts into me, building up waves of pleasure, touching me deeply, intimately, doubling, tripling, multiplying my pleasure. I clutch at his shirt, moaning his name and his finger picks up its pace, one more joining in as he drives deeper into me, harder and faster and deeper, deeper and I am crying, flying, dying that little death my husband offers so gloriously.

He lets out a hoarse cry, falling heavily against me, pressing occasional kisses against my throat, my shoulders. Slipping my hand beneath the collar of his shirt, I rub his back in time with the sounds of our breathing and slowly drift back to reality. I recall the bruise on his face, the blood on his raw knuckles and I am slightly nauseous now, remembering the taste of that blood in my mouth. I stiffen slightly and he turns to me.

�Michelle?� he asks softly and the timbre of his voice is enough to dissipate any queasiness I feel. I am able to summon a smile for him, but he sees right through it.

�What?�

I hesitate to answer, but his eyes repeat the question and so I find myself answering honestly, �you were in a fight.�

His expression dims and he pulls away from me. I know why. He feels as if he has tainted me, I can tell from the look in his eyes, never mind that I jumped him. He gets off the bed and puts his clothing back together.

�I got into it with Nino.�

�What -� I start to ask what happened but then remember that I don�t want to know. He understands this and offering a sad smile, he walks out of the room. I am left physically sated, but my soul is aching.

We need to talk. I tell him this and he resists the idea. I repeat the words, �we need to talk.� And he accedes. And I am silent. I don�t know where to begin. I don�t know what to say, how to say it. I gaze at him, he looks fearful and I realize that he is afraid that I am going to leave him. I know where to begin.

�I love you.� He isn�t expecting this, his eyes narrow slightly.

�I love you,� I repeat, never tired of saying those words to this man, �I love you,� again, �but I can�t be quiet about this. What�s going to happen with Nino? I know that Carmen is pushing you to retaliate, which normally I wouldn�t worry about, but �� I pause and find myself wringing my hands as I�m wont to do when nervous, when scared or confused. �Danny, the gun. The fight you got into with him. Danny, it seems to be escalating. Why is it escalating? What is going on?�

He is silent for a few moments and although I want to speak, I don�t. I give him space, time to work through what he wants to say. He looks up at me and offers a simple statement.

�He�s been threatening you.�

I close my eyes and feel a sinking feeling. We knew -- both of us � all of us knew -- that if anyone wanted to get at Danny, they would come after me. I am his weakness, his vulnerability. The world knows too well how much he loves me. When I open my eyes, I see the pain in his and I wonder is it for the thought of losing me, or that ever-present guilt that my life wouldn�t be in danger if I were not with him.

�Danny -� I begin, but he interrupts and the speed with which he speaks lets me know that this has been building and that he has kept quiet for too long.

�At first it was veiled threats. He hinted at taking you away from me and I bit my tongue and walked away. I had to. Then he got bolder, and he began talking about you, what it would be like to,� he pauses and looks away, his voice filled with anger, �be with you. And I told him to shut up, to leave you out of it or else.

�He didn�t buy my threat. He didn�t believe me and now he�s been talking lately of taking you out and so I sent him a message.� He pauses again and offers a joyless grin. �I nearly put him the hospital.�

He looks back at me, gauging my reaction and I�m sure my feelings are obvious. I feel sick to my stomach, my mouth is dry and I just want to turn away, run away, forget this place, this life, this man. I feel a sob gather in the base of my throat, �I can�t,� I mumble beneath my breath.

He doesn�t respond to my words, but to the look on my face. �Michelle, I have to deal with him. If I don�t, he will come after you. He will.�

�What are you gonna do?� I cry, the tears are falling down my face and I am helpless to stop them. �What, Danny? Are you gonna kill him? Are you gonna grab the gun you have hidden in the top dresser drawer and finish him off?�

He looks away from me in anguish. He didn�t know that I knew about the gun, he hadn�t wanted me to know and the pain that it causes me hurts him. I want to go to him and take him in my arms, but I don�t because I need to speak. I need him to understand my fear.

�Are you finally going to become your mother�s son?� I bite out and he turns to me, a savage look on his face, ferocity in his voice, �my father�s son.� And then his voice lowers and he repeats softly, �my father�s son.�

And then I say the words he fears. �Danny, if you do this �� my voice trails off because I don�t want to finish the statement. But he forces me to.

�If I do this � what, Michelle?� And there is no emotion in his voice and his face is blank but for the darkness in his eyes and the grim line of his mouth. I look at him. I look into those dark eyes and speak.

�If you do this, I don�t know that I can be with you.� Until I actually said the words, I hadn�t believed that it was possible, but once they were spoken, I knew that it was truth. He stares at me for a moment in silence; he knows it as well.

For the first time last night - since our Laurel Falls nuptials - we slept on separate sides of the bed. And it didn�t matter how tightly I wrapped myself up in the blankets; I was cold, so cold and empty. We both barely slept, just lie there restless, tossing and turning but never turning towards one another for comfort.

He is gone now. When he left this morning, there was another first. My husband did not kiss me goodbye. I can still feel the emptiness on my lips where he would have kissed me and I regret my words. I don�t care about Nino or Carmen or the business or anything else. I just want my husband, my Danny to look at me, to love me the way he always has.

I lied last night. I lied when I told him that I would walk away. I could never walk away. He should have known that. He should have seen through my words. I was lying to him, I was lying to myself � I�m so good at that. And then I am crying because Danny has never known when I was lying to myself. I am able to convince him as easily as I convince myself. That was always one of our biggest obstacles. My lies. His lies. Always to save each other or ourselves. Always trying to do the right thing.

Well, damn the right thing if it means this distance between us. I laugh through my tears as the lyrics to a song dance through my brain � if loving you is wrong, I don�t want to be right. And I don�t. Right doesn�t matter. Only love.

It is now after dusk and Danny still hasn�t come home. And he hasn�t called. I gave in and called Carmen around five and she hasn�t heard from him either. I know something is wrong. No matter how angry, how disillusioned Danny is with me, he would never worry me like this. He just wouldn�t do it.

The phone rings.

I lunge for it, my heart racing, �Danny?� I say anxiously. There is laughter on the other end and I don�t recognize the caller until he speaks; it is Nino and his words chill me to the bone, �if you want to see your husband before he dies I suggest you come down to Dock 17.�

And then I hear in the background, Danny�s anguished cry and my name, he calls out my name, �Michelle, don�t,� but I�m already hanging the phone up and rushing upstairs. I can�t think, the only image in my mind is Danny hurt � Danny dying. I pull the drawer out of the chest so quickly that it comes completely out and falls to the ground, its contents spilling all over the floor. The gun is beneath one of my scarves. I pick it up with remarkably steady hands and head out the door without a second glance. Danny needs me.

I hadn�t realized it when Nino said where they were; I hadn�t realized it until I actually got here. Dock 17. This is where Danny took me the night I told him about Mick. It is here that he held a gun on me, here where he told me to jump in the water. It is at this place that he �proposed.�

My mind is filled with memories of that night and of the other, the night that I killed his brother. I look down at the gun in my hand - still steady - and reflect that for one who abhors violence my actions don�t quite match. I�ve killed one man. My gaze still locked on the gun, I think, without emotion, that I am ready to kill another.

I hear a thud and then a groan. Tearing my eyes from the weapon, I walk forward slowly and see a figure dressed in black, holding his own gun. Looking past him, I see the crumpled form of my husband and it takes everything in me not to cry out. Even from this distance I can see that he is bleeding; he is hurt. The figure - Nino, I presume -- steps forward and kicks Danny viciously and a protective rage fills me. I find my arm raised, the gun pointing at that monster�s back without thought, without effort � I am merely following instinct.

�Drop the gun.� My voice, like my hand, is steady. Nino turns to face me. Danny raises his head and I hear a faint �Michelle.� My eyes remain on Nino and he is smiling. He looks terrible, his pouty lips twice their normal size, a dark bruise on his cheekbone and jawline, blackened eyes and as he takes a step towards me, he winces and I feel an exultant rush that my Danny did this to him. And I hope that the bastard is hurting badly.

�Is the prim-and-proper Bauer girl gonna pull the trigger?� Nino asks in a condescending voice. Before I can reply, he laughs long and hard, throwing his head back and I glance at Danny. He is shaking his head back and forth slowly, carefully and he is obviously in pain. I take another step towards Nino and he stops laughing and looks me square in the face. There is death in his eyes.

�I was so hoping you would show up,� he comments conversationally. The reality of the situation begins to seep into my bones. I am no longer operating on fear for Danny. Reflex reactions have sputtered to a halt and now I find my hand shaking. I switch the gun over to my other hand, but that one is shaking even worse. I note in the recess of my mind that my entire body is shaking.

Nino must see this as well; I pray to God that that is all he is thinking as his eyes rove up and down my body. Not again! my mind screams, Mick�s face swimming before me and I remember the fear and revulsion of his hands all over me, his lips slobbering over me with such a rush that I take a step back.

His death, Danny�s arrival and everything that happened between then and now had blocked out the horror of Mick�s near-rape, but seeing the same lascivious look on Nino�s face is bringing those emotions to the forefront. My hand begins to shake even more.

�Danny has brought so much to my life that I feel it�s only fair to return the favor. And what better way to pay him back,� he speaks idly, so casually as he steps towards me, �than to take his precious, little bride right before his eyes � before I kill him?�

I had thought, all those months ago, that my killing of Mick was in order to save Drew�s life. Now, as I stand facing another would-be rapist, I think that I would have done the same to him had Drew not even been there. The idea of this thing touching me fills me with such a quaking, repulsed fear � and it is a fear that I recognize. I had the felt the same thing that evening as Mick Santos stood above me, as he touched me and as I stare at that bruised and battered face, my hand is once more no longer shaking.

My arm rises and my grip tightens on the gun. Nino�s eyes meet my own and I see in his eye realization that I will not so easily fit into his plans of revenge. A surge of exultation fills me and I swear that I am ready to shoot him straight through the heart; he must have seen that in my gaze, for suddenly he whirls around, his gun pointed at Danny and any feeling other than terror and despair leave my body.

�Or I can just shoot him now and get it over with,� he comments and even through my fear, I can hear that the bravado is gone from his voice, he is trying for the same hateful nonchalance of before and failing miserably. Danny looks past him at me and there is an indefinable sadness in his eyes that I don�t understand. His tongue comes out and wets dry, bloodied lips.

�Michelle,� he whispers and his voice is hoarse with pain, �just lea -.� He breaks off with a groan as Nino�s foot shoots out and connects with his ribs again. My finger tightens on the trigger. He looks up at Nino with hate in his eyes and mutters thickly, �you�re gonna die � .�

�You first,� Nino responds and points his weapon at Danny. I hear a click and without thought press down on the trigger. The sound of bullets hitting into flesh is almost simultaneous in the dark, still of the night. Danny�s body jerks and my heart stands still, I barely notice Nino falling to the ground as the gun slips from my hands and I rush to my husband�s side.

�Danny! Danny!� My hands press against him and he is speaking, but I can�t hear anything past the rushing of the blood in my ears. And then he is gripping my shoulders and shaking me, his face twisted in pain. �Michelle! Stop! Stop, stop �� his voice fades to a whisper and his face is blurring before my eyes, the tears are welling so quickly.

�It�s just my arm, he got me in the arm. I think it went through.� As he speaks, he drops his hands from my shoulders and I look from his pain-drenched eyes to his bleeding arm. I wipe tears from my face and gingerly feel at the wound. I mumble a quick prayer to God and look down at him, �yeah, it went through. Oh God, oh God, you�re okay. Danny, you�re okay.�

I fall against him, and feel his hand on my head, his fingers twisting in the strands. I sob quietly, unable to speak, to think, to move, unable to do anything other than lie in his arms and thank God over and over and over and over again. His lips press against the crown of my head and then a small moan of pain escapes him. It is enough to bring me to action.

I sit up, looking into his face -- his beloved face -- and find myself powerless to resist pressing kisses against his cheek, his jaw carefully, gingerly avoiding the bruises and scrapes. And then my lips find his and my hands are cupping his face and caution is dispensed with, as his fingers tighten in my hair and our mouths are ravenous upon each other. I taste blood and I don�t care as I press myself against him once more, my hand trailing down his chest and feeling the hardness of him through his pants.

His hips push against me in answer to my questing fingers and his other arm rises, wrapping about my waist. I pull back slightly, gripping the zipper and he breaks suddenly from our kiss, a cry of anguish separating us.

�Danny!?� His head falls back and his eyes close. �Danny?! Danny?!� I am screaming his name, but he is unresponsive. �Danny �� my voice falls to a whisper.

I press shaking fingers to his throat, praying silently that I will find a pulse. It is there and strong and steady. Once more I fall against him, sobbing heavily, thanking God. As he lay still beneath me, I press my ear to his heart and find my cries fading as I concentrate on its beat. I lay there for what seems an eternity unaware of anything other than the feel of his solid, warm body beneath me, the strong beating of his heart, when he suddenly stirs.

I sit up and his eyes, still glazed with pain, meet my own.

�Nino.� His voice is barely above a whisper and for a moment I am confused, unsure of the meaning of his word and then I remember, the last few minutes come flooding through my mind. I shake my head back and forth, tears spilling anew.

�Danny, I can�t. I can�t look -� I can�t even say his name, I can�t, don�t want to acknowledge what I have done � again.

�Michelle, you have to.� His voice is louder now and firm, so very firm. I meet his gaze and once more shake my head.

�I can�t.�

�Michelle, listen to me. I�m too weak, I can�t do this. I would if I could, but there�s no one else we can turn to � no one we can trust to help us. We have to do this.�

�What do you mean?� I don�t understand what he is saying, �Danny, we just call the police � it was self-defense, it was -� I break off crying, unable to speak, not wanting to think.

�Michelle, sweetie, it wasn�t.� And again I see that sorrow in his gaze and I don�t know what it means. Suddenly the meaning of his words ring through, �what do you mean? It was - Danny, it was self-defense.�

He shakes his head, �no, it wasn�t. I attacked Nino. He tricked me into coming here. Then he called you. Your next step should have been either calling my mother and doing this the Santos way or calling the police and abiding by the law.�

I look away, not wanting to listen to his words, his logic but he keeps on speaking and everything he says makes sense, terrible, terrible sense. �But you didn�t do either of those things. Michelle, you took the gun -- a gun registered to a member of a notorious crime family - and you came here and you held that gun on him. And you killed him. You -�

�-But he was gonna rape me -� I interrupt him.

�-Prove it!� He breaks in with, an intense urgency filling his voice.

�I can�t! But he shot you, he hurt you -� and again he won�t let me finish, �- because I put him in the hospital the other day. Michelle, do you honestly think the police would care if a couple of gangsters did each other in? No.�

�But, I�m not --�

�What? A gangster? No, you�re just a gangster�s wife who took her husband�s gun and the law into her own hands. Michelle, you�re not Ed Bauer�s little girl anymore. You�re the wife of Daniel Santos. Maybe Frank Cooper wouldn�t come down on you, but his superiors wouldn�t give a damn what you were like before you met the big, bad Mafia. All they would care about is that you are my wife and you exacted revenge and they will use you to get to me and my family.� He pauses and there is that sadness again, so deep in his eyes and when he speaks, that sorrow echoes in his voice.

�And they will have grounds.�

I sit back on my haunches, dazed, feeling suddenly lost when moments before I had been safe in my husband�s arms. He is right. I know he is right and now I understand his sadness, I understand why he wanted me to leave. I am in. It is too late; I can never turn back now. Mick � Mick had been an entirely different situation. I had been an innocent. I had been merely protecting myself. But tonight I had come to the docks, prepared with a gun, fully loaded, ready to kill another man if I had to. And I had.

I had killed a man. Again. Taken another life.

I turn slowly, so slowly a distant, foolish part of myself hoping that there will be nothing to see. Of course there is. He lays there in an undignified sprawl, blood staining the ground beneath and to the side of his body. Nino.

I rise slowly to my feet and stare down at the young life that I had taken. For the moment it doesn�t matter that he had held a gun on my husband, that he was going to kill him, rape me, that he had beaten Danny � for the moment he is just a young man who will never breathe again. Just like Mick.

Mick Santos, my husband�s brother, a man I rarely think of because I don�t want to face what I did. A man whose life I rarely acknowledge because I was responsible for his death. And I so want to live in my fairytale of true love with Danny, I want to forget the dark deeds and anger and violence that had brought us together. So I had locked Mick Santos away in a corner of my mind, alongside my mother�s death and my father�s part in it, alongside the cruel things I had done to Eve before accepting her, alongside the devastating way I had cut Jesse out of my life even if it was for his own safety.

I stand looking at this dead young man and find tears running down my face for the loss of his life and for Mick�s. I turn to Danny and tears are wet upon his cheeks as well.

�I�m sorry,� I whisper and he is confused, he doesn�t understand. He can�t understand. �I�m so sorry that I took your brother away from you. I�m so sorry that I killed him.� And then I look back at Nino�s body and I find myself on my knees, my fingers running across the bloody concrete, �I�m sorry, I�m sorry, I�m sorry, I�m sorry �� and on I keep murmuring and the tears won�t stop flowing and then Danny is behind me.

He holds me in his arms and he whispers soft words that mean nothing into my hair and he rocks me back and forth, his hands clasped tightly in front of me and I can only cry and apologize over and over again.

His voice seems to come to me from a distance. �Michelle, I know this hard. I know, but we have to clean this up.� As his words filter through my brain, I stiffen slightly in his arms and pull away, turning to look at him.

�What do you mean?�

�We have to get the bullet.� My eyes widen in repulsion, but he continues. �And we gotta dump his body in the river and clean up my blood. We have to erase any sign that we were here. They find his body, they�ll just assume it�s a mob hit. They may suspect me, but without the bullet, they won�t have proof and they�ll never think of you.�

I shake my head back and forth, �no, Danny. No.�

�Yes.�

�No! I won�t do it. I won�t dig through his - God, Danny, no, I can�t do that.� And I am crying again, but he is insistent.

�Michelle. Michelle! Listen to me! If we want to get out of this without the cops none the wiser we have to get the bullet. They know what type of gun is registered to me. They know. If they have the bullet, they can get a warrant and they will trace the bullet back to me. I won�t let you take the fall, you know that. But I would prefer that neither one of us has to go to prison. And in order to avoid that �� he trails off and I finish numbly, realizing the truth in his words.

�We have to get the bullet out.�

�Yes. I�m sorry, I�ll help. I�ll do what I can, but I�m barely hanging on here. I need to get home, I need to rest, I need to get cleaned up before they show up asking me questions.� I look him in the face and see that he is understating his physical state. There is exhaustion and agony etched into every line of his face. Even the slightest move brings a wince to his frame and he is having difficulty even maintaining consciousness. Whatever Nino had done to him, coupled with the gunshot wound, our frenzied sexual need and this conversation has worn him out almost completely.

I am going to have to do this myself.

I wipe my fingers across the tail of Nino�s shirt. I have blocked the reality of what I am doing, what I have done out of my mind. The bullet is in the palm of Danny�s hand and he is gazing at it as if searching for an answer. I prepare to ask him what he is looking for, but find that I just don�t care right then.

�Clean the blade off, too.�

I turn slightly to look at him and wearily nod my head. I pick up his pocketknife and clear the blood and grime off, again using a dead man�s clothing and then I hand the knife back to Danny. I don�t look at him. I can�t.

�We have to push the body in the river. Come on, I�ll help you.� Unsteadily he gets to his feet and although I thought myself dead to emotion at the moment, the sight of him in such a state sends a rush of love through my body and I am at his side, helping him.

�Just rest, I�ll do it,� my voice sounds strange to my own ears. It seems a century since I had last spoken.

�Michelle, we have to do this quickly, and the two of us -�

�-- Danny, if you pass out again, we�ll be here that much longer,� I interrupt him, the voice of logic for the two of us now. �I�ll do it,� I finish with a sigh. �I�ll just drag the - I�ll drag him.� He gazes at me for a moment longer and then nods his head.

�If you need help �� he trails off and I can hear in his voice, see in his eyes how much this is killing him that I am doing this, involved in this and I wonder who feels worse about the situation. I look over at Nino�s body and answer my own question. I do.

Danny doesn�t understand. He may be the gangster. He may have lived his whole life surrounded by violence, but he has never killed a man � he has never taken a life.

I have. Twice.

�I won�t need any help,� I say quietly and move away from him, move towards the second dead body in my life.

Danny is in the shower. I didn�t offer to help him. I didn�t want to see the bruises on his body. And I couldn�t watch the blood fall from him, a watered-down shade of red. As I close my eyes and see the bucket of dirty water washing away my husband�s blood from the concrete, lightening its dark hue, I swear to never wear pink or any variation ever again.

I open my eyes and try to remember how it happened, but I can�t. I can�t remember shooting Nino. I drove home; I entered the house, helped Danny upstairs and spoke not a word. I was trying to remember. I recall pulling the trigger. I still can hear the sound of the bullets hitting flesh, but I don�t remember seeing the bullet hit him. All I can see in my mind�s eye is Danny�s body reacting to the gunshot, Danny�s blood, Danny slumping against the wall.

I know that I killed Nino, but I can�t relive the moment in my mind. And it just happened. I look over at the clock on the bedside table. It is just after 8:00 p.m., less than two hours since Nino had called me. And I can not remember the bullet hitting him. I can not remember the sight of his death. It is almost a year since I had killed Mick and I can still see that vividly.

I had blocked it out, but with just a thought, I can see it all again. His hulking frame standing over me, and then turning to Drew, the rock I picked up, the way I slammed it into his skull, �the elbow I put into it,� as Drew said. I can recite the details of that evening without hesitation even after all these months. But an event that had happened less than two hours before alludes my grasp.

Danny walks into the bedroom and I look up at him, - perhaps for the first time since first seeing him in a state of undress -- unaffected and tell him, �I can�t remember the bullet hitting him. I pulled the trigger, but that�s all I remember. Why can�t I remember?�

�Why would you want to?� he asks wearily and sighs. He looks dead on his feet and then suddenly I laugh. Dead on his feet. And I say it outloud, �dead on his feet.� And I am laughing even harder and Danny is coming to me, kneeling before the bed and when it happens I don�t know, but suddenly my laughter turns to cries and tears are streaming down my face. I wrap my arms about him, clutching him tightly.

He holds me close, he whispers more nonsense words into my ear and then he tells me that he loves me. He loves me. He loves me. And I hold onto that, cling to that because I am a bad person, I am bad, but Danny still loves me. And I�ll be okay as long as someone still loves me.

He shifts on the floor, his arms loosening then tightening about me for the second time that I am aware of. I pull away slightly and then more, falling out of his hold. He looks at me and I can�t tell if the moisture on his face is from the shower, my tears or if he has been crying himself. I scoot back on the bed and hold my arms out again.

I need him right now. I need him to hold me.

He gets to his feet and there is an awkwardness in his movements, his customary grace diminished in the wake of his pain and exhaustion, but already he looks better. He slept in the car and the shower seems to have revived him rather well. The towel falls from him and he climbs into bed beside me naked. Absently, I note the bruises on his flesh, the bullet wound on his arm. And then he wraps me in his arms again, and nothing else matters.

My face is buried in the curve of his shoulder and he smells wonderful. Clean and fresh. The scent of blood and gunpowder is gone from him. He smells wonderful. My tongue darts out and I taste his flesh and he tastes wonderful. Clean and fresh. I pull away and gaze up at him; he is watching me warily.

�Michelle?� I shake my head, I don�t want to speak. I don�t want to talk. I just want to be held. I want to be alive. I want to know that I�m alive.

I want him.

�I want you,� my voice is a whisper and his lips part as if to speak, but I can read in his eyes the confusion. He doesn�t know what to say. He doesn�t know how to act. He doesn�t understand. He can�t understand. He has never taken a life.

I have. Twice.

�I want you,� I repeat and I kiss him. My mouth opens and my tongue is inside his as I raise myself up, cupping his face with my hands, devouring him � the taste -- the wonderful, clean, fresh taste - of him. He kisses me back, but I can feel the hesitation, that wariness. His hands rest on my arms and he is trying to hold back, but I feel the heat of his erection pressing against me. I pull away from the kiss, my lips trailing down his chin, his throat and I murmur against his flesh, �you want me, too� as his hands slip away.

He falls back against the pillows as I wrap my fingers about him. I don�t look at his face. I don�t want to. I just want this, I think, as my head descends, as I open my mouth to take him in. He moans slightly as my tongue swirls about him, my lips widening to engulf the hard heat of him. My fingers curve tightly about the base of his manhood, too tightly for a moment as a whimper of pain escapes him.

I feel his hand on my head, his fingers entwining in my hair as I take him deeper and deeper inside my mouth, as my fingers glide over him and I am desperate for his climax. I want him to come, I want to know that I have made him feel this way, that I have given him this and then he does. His fingers pull at my hair and he lets out a hoarse cry as his seed spills out and I have the sudden urge to hurt him, because he came without me. I wasn�t ready. I wanted to be there in that moment.

I needed to be there.

I sit up, pulling away from him and tear my blouse off. Literally. Buttons fly across the room and I feel a savage pleasure that I�ve destroyed a gift from him. He gave me this blouse, this pink, watered-down bloody pink blouse as a birthday gift. His eyes open and he is beginning to understand, I see it at last in his eyes. He understands that I need all of him, the good and the bad � especially the bad.

I don�t want softness. I don�t want comfort. I don�t want to be made love to. I want to be fucked. I want to feel nothing but pure, unadulterated lust fulfilled. I want � I need to feel alive.

He lunges for me and jerks my skirt up, his lips hungrily fastening on mine. We fall to the floor, but neither one of us cares. He roughly pulls down my panties and his hands are holding my face as he plunders my mouth, refusing to let me take control again. I push against him, but he holds me still and then he rips at my bra and that is destroyed too.

And his lips are marking my skin, the scratchiness of his five o�clock shadow burning against my throat, branding my breast. His fingers are inside me and he isn't playing games, he is touching me deeply, getting straight to the core of my desire and I am forgetting about tonight, about Nino and Mick, and death. I am losing a grasp on anything other than the way he is making me feel.

He parts the folds of my flesh and pushes into me and I cry out at his intensity. I look up at him and he is gazing down at me and there is a savage look on his face and his eyes are glittering as he pumps inside of me and I clutch at him, my nails raking across his back. My legs are wrapped around him and with every plunge into me, I raise my hips, urging him on ... urging him to go harder and faster, harder and his hands are holding tightly to my wrists, my arms stretched out above my head.

And he is all that I can see, he is all that I can feel. There is no room for anything, anything, anywhere inside of me but him ... this man, this moment, this feeling. And then he explodes inside of me and I feel like a thousand bullets are going off inside of my body, my vision darkens and the room spins around me. I shut my eyes and a tear and then two slides from under my lids.

He is gently rubbing my wrists, the lengths of my arms and then my face, his fingers so tenderly wiping the tears from my face. And then he is whispering against my lips, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" and I shake my head and kiss him. Softly, sweetly, lovingly. I kiss him and I refuse his apology as I wind my arms about his neck, holding him close to me.

He is sleeping. A part of me wants to wake him up, ask how he can sleep so peacefully when my world is falling apart? Can�t he see what this is doing to me? I can�t think of anything other than death. I see Mick�s body, I see Nino�s body and then I stare at my hands and see them as instruments of death. I want to forget. I want for tonight to never have happened. As long as Danny and I never discussed Mick, he could lay buried in our past, untouched . . . but that is no longer an option.

I get out of bed and grab a shirt of his out of the drawer. I climb back onto the bed, sitting at the foot as I button it up. And I watch him sleep. A minute passes, then two and then four. I gaze at him and then look over at the clock. Ten minutes have passed. I feel like I�m in a void, but there is a torrent of rage and anguish waiting to erupt. Twelve minutes. His lids flutter and he shifts in the bed; his arm reaches out and he is searching for my presence. I wish achingly for a moment with every thing in me that I were there, that he could hold me and that just his touch would take this all away.

But it won�t.

He finds my spot empty and his eyes open. He looks about and sees me. A smile crosses his face. He is beautiful, I think but I can�t return his smile. He sits up.

�What?� and he moves towards me.

I get up off the bed and ask him the question that�s been pounding in my head. �Have you ever thought about what it would be like to kill someone, Danny? Have you ever really thought about it?�

He looks away and sighs, �Michelle �� and his voice trails off.

�Have you?�

�Yes. I always knew that in my world it could come up at any time.� He still won�t look at me.

�What did you think? Did you imagine what it would be like? How you would feel? How you would do it?� The questions come quickly and his eyes shut, his frame tightening.

�I don�t want to talk about -�

�-I do!� I bang my fists down on the bed and he finally looks at me.

�Michelle, this isn�t something you should be thinking about. You shouldn�t � I wanted to protect you from this.� And his voice is filled with pain, so much pain, but I am immune to that pain right now.

�How could you protect me, Danny? I committed my first murder before I even knew you. I killed your brother. Remember? I whacked him over the head with a rock. I watched him fall to his knees, I watched the death throes cross his face, I saw -�

�Shut up!� and he is on his feet, towering over me. �Shut up,� and his voice is a whisper.

His eyes close and that ever-present guilt crosses his face. He takes a step back and breathes deeply. I stand watching him, wondering if I have pushed him too far. His eyes open and he is calm, that sudden anger that had enflamed them moments ago is gone.

Not far enough.

�We never talk about that night, Danny.� My voice is amazingly serene. I hear the slightest smile in my words. Actually it is more than a smile, I realize; it is a taunt. He hears it too. His fists clench at his sides and he takes another step back, turning away from me. I watch him as he pulls on some shorts, runs a hand through his hair and sits back down on the bed.

�Michelle, we discussed it on the beach. You told me what happened. End of story.� His words are tight, emotionless and I can see the tension coiling within him. Just a little push, I think and don�t even flinch at how much I want him to hurt right now, hurt as badly as I am.

�Why can�t we talk about it again? You see, I told you the details, but not the feelings and you don�t know, Danny, you don�t know what it feels like to take a life. I do. I want to tell you.� A tear slips down my cheek and I am surprised to feel it�s warm wetness. �I need to tell you,� and my voice is no longer calm and it is not just one tear, but many and I say again, �I need to tell you.� And then �I need to tell someone.� And then I am rambling, rushing through words, my rage dissipating as my tears fall � my need to wound him disappearing with each word.

�I tried to tell Jesse, but he wouldn�t listen. Mick was scum, a criminal, not worthy of my guilt, that�s what he said. It didn�t matter that I killed him, you see, Mick was bad and he deserved to die.� Absently, I note the way Danny sits up straighter, the unseeing glare in his eyes. �And Bill wouldn�t hear it, either. You see, he couldn�t face what I had done. And I really don�t think that Drew even cared. And I couldn�t talk to Rick or Abby or Aunt Meta because they wouldn�t understand. No one could understand. No one would try.�

And then I�m before him and I can barely see as I kneel in front of him, the tears are so thick, blinding me. And my words are slurred and breaking apart as the sobs choke my throat. �Please, please, Danny.� My hands reach up and encircle his face, force him to look at me. His eyes close again. �I�ve tried for so long to not care, to not remember and I�ve done a really good job of it, but I don�t want to � Danny?�

And he looks at me.

�Please,� I beg of him softly again. �Please I can�t do it anymore. Nino, what happened tonight, I need � someone needs to try. Please listen to me. Please try and understand.�

He looks at me intently and I can see the battle in his eyes and for a moment I spare a thought for his struggle, for his emotions this night. His wife - his beloved wife - took a gun in hand and killed someone. How could that not have brought back his own memories of his brother�s death? And I�d never asked him. I never asked what those memories were? I never knew how he grieved. I never questioned what guilt he must feel because he fell in love with his brother�s murderer.

He has tried so hard to protect me, to keep me from being tainted by the crime and the violence of the Santos family and tonight I stepped right into it. And he could do nothing to protect me � he failed in his sacred duty as husband.

And now, now I ask him to hear me speak about the night his brother died, how I felt, what he did to me, the fear I felt, the horror at witnessing his death. And I think, in this moment of empathy for my husband, that I can understand if he refuses.

I look away from his gaze and my eyes fall upon my hands still encircling his face and I see so clearly Nino�s blood and Mick�s. I shake my head back and forth, my moment of compassion gone and beg of him once more, �please try.�

He remains silent and my hands fall to my side. I rise and take a wobbly step away from him when suddenly his arm comes out and wraps about my waist. He is looking at me and there is resolve upon his features, determination in his eyes. He pulls me to him and I settle upon his lap, my hands lying tentatively upon his bare chest and I meet his gaze.

�Okay,� he says simply and I find the sobs building within me and I marvel amidst my misery once again at this love that I have found in this man. He pulls me to him, tucking my head beneath his chin and gently brushes my hair, all the while murmuring words of comfort.

And for the first time in days I do feel comforted. I feel the anger, the anguish slowly drain out of me as his fingers soothe my throbbing head � as his words offer succor to my aching heart. My cries subside and I open my mind, thinking back to that night, centuries ago now it seems.

�Drew and I needed to talk and somewhere privately where Jesse wouldn�t hear us. I don�t even remember now what it was about, but that�s why we were on the beach that night. I don�t know how Mick knew that we were there, actually Drew. He was looking for Drew, he wanted revenge because she fired him or had called the cops, I don�t know if he�d known.�

Danny shifts slightly beneath me and murmurs softly, �this was the night he died?�

I nod, my head bumping against his chin. �Ow,� he says softly and I find the smallest smile on my lips as I pull away and look at him.

�Sorry,� he shakes his head slightly and I note a touch of confusion in his gaze, but I can�t question it now ... maybe later. I need to talk; I need to deal with this, finally, once and for all.

�Where was I? Oh, we were at the beach and Mick didn�t even know I�d be there, he was really just following Drew, and he was threatening her when I got there and then when he saw me, he just ignored her. And I know this sounds crazy, but I think even that irritated her. She hated the fact that Jesse loved me, she hated the fact that any guy could prefer me to her and Mick did.

�He was always coming on to me, he was so creepy, making veiled comments about him and me and Drew knew about it, and I think she was jealous in a way � she thought, �once again, Michelle gets the guy.� I couldn�t understand her. I guess I still don�t.�

�Why are you still friends then?� his voice is so soft, so soothing, I can�t imagine how hard this is for him, but he is still here, still listening, doing this for me. I reach out a hand and lightly rest it against his face; he leans into my touch, his eyes closing briefly. I savor this renewed closeness for a moment and then my eyes light upon my hand, my guilty hand. I pull away, getting up off of his lap and begin to pace the room. He doesn�t question my move, he just accepts.

I think of that night and I think of Drew, realizing I never answered his question. �Habit, I guess. Drew, I mean. When everything was happening with you, when we first got married, she was the only one who knew the whole story. I began to depend on her and, even after everything she�d done, I couldn�t deny her. And it was so strange because we disliked each other for so long, Danny. Until I married you and all of that stuff happened, we barely spoke civilly to each other.�

�So you weren�t friends all along?�

�No,� I look at him, surprised that I had never told him this.

�But she was the maid of --, oh, she was the only one who knew, which made her the only one you could ask. Right?�

I nod, �and after what happened with you,� he has the decency to look away in a flash of guilt, �I suppose most wouldn�t have forgiven her, but I guess I thought that if I didn�t forgive her, it would make me a hypocrite. I was with you, I forgave you.� I laugh with little humor, �it takes two to tango, right Danny?�

He sends a sudden, piercing look my way � �that night on the beach, when did she leave?� he changes the subject with little ease and there is no inflection in his voice when he says �she,� purposely negating her presence in his life, then and now.

�When did she leave? What do you mean?� I ask, suddenly confused as I think to answer his question.

�Well, what happened next � Mick saw you and ignored her, what then?� I wonder for a moment at his interest in a discussion I thought he would not want to have, but I need this. I keep changing the subject, trying to find a way to not talk about it. Even now, after tonight, after Nino, I still don�t want to face my actions � my violent tendencies. I look down at my hands again and see that gun, that rock there and wince. I must. I must.

�Mick ignored her and he grabbed me, he made it clear that he wanted � that he was going to rape me. He began to drag me off the beach when Drew ran up behind him and hit him on the head with a rock.� Danny sits up straighter in the bed and from a distance I hear his �Michelle?� in a strained whisper.

I don�t respond. I can�t. I�m there on the beach, that night. I can feel his breath on my face, his hands gripping me, the lust, the glittering, fiery lust in his gaze and I let out a sudden gasp, covering my face in horror as I see those eyes staring into my own in my mind.

I had blocked this out; I had barely remembered what he looked like. I had made myself forget his face - before this moment, he had just been a hazy image, I had made myself banish the memory of those eyes, those dark eyes looking at me with such wanting.

I had forgotten. I had forgotten. I had forgotten.

I turn and look at Danny and he is staring at me with shock, but I don�t see it. All I can see are his eyes. My Danny�s eyes. My husband�s eyes and the many, many times he has looked at me with wanting, with desire, with lust in them and I have always -- even in the beginning of our marriage -- felt an answering rush of warmth every time he had looked at me so.

Because I had forgotten. I had forgotten. I had forgotten that the same look, the same eyes had looked at me the same way so many times before Danny even entered my life.

Mick. His Brother. My husband�s brother. Danny and Mick had the same eyes.

I look at him and he keeps saying my name, but I can not respond. I see his brother�s face, his brother�s eyes and I can�t speak, I can�t think. I am spellbound by horror, unable to deal with this revelation. I turn from him suddenly, my paralysis breaking in a heartbeat and I am out the door. I hear his voice calling after me; I hear his footsteps behind me and the fear of that night returns. I can�t let him catch me. He can�t touch me.

I reach the front door and grab his overcoat and keys. He calls my name again and I stop for a moment, hearing the need, the question, the fear in his voice and I remind myself that this is the man I love. I turn around and he is standing at the foot of the stairs, confusion etched onto every line of his face and in his eyes.

Oh, God, his eyes and I turn; blind once again to his need for understanding. The door blurs before me, but I manage to open it and am out; it slams behind me with a crack. I am in the car, behind the wheel, the keys in the ignition before he is even outside. Our eyes meet through the windshield and I turn the key, looking down � looking away from him � from his eyes.

My husband�s eyes. His brother�s eyes. The eyes of my first victim.

�I killed a man tonight. I shot him in the back, through the heart. And it wasn�t even self-defense, momma. I was protecting Danny. Danny. I wish you could meet him, I think you would like him. I think you would.�

I sit wrapped in Danny�s coat, grateful for it�s enveloping heat and the scent of him lingers in its folds. I trace her name. Maureen Reardon Bauer. I trace the year of her death: 1992. I trace the words � beloved wife, mother and friend. I retrace the word mother. Again. And again. I ignore the tears falling down my cheeks. I�ve been sitting here for almost an hour now, just talking, jumping from thought to thought trying to make sense out of this life I am living. My thoughts fly through time � a year ago, tonight, when first I met Danny, when first we kissed, when Mick worked at the club, our honeymoon, our wedding day, the night on the beach. I think of Mick. I think of Danny. The eyes that they share.

The lust leaping within the darkness of his eyes. The leer in them, the savagery. He wanted me. He wanted to hurt me. Our wedding day as he spoke his vows, his eyes shining with an inner glow of peace and love. I didn�t realize it at the time, would not let myself see it - but it was love.

My thoughts turn. I must make momma understand.

�His name was Nino. He was a jerk, a bully. He was gonna rape me. He was gonna kill Danny. I had to protect my husband. Right? I had to. You would have done the same thing for daddy. Right? Or would you have? Would you have ever forgiven him? I�ve thought about that, because Danny cheated on me and I forgave him. The circumstances were different of course ��

My thoughts turn. The desperate, passion-soaked way his eyes - so dark and malevolent - would follow me across the crowded club. The jealous rage when I stood with Jesse. The desperate, passion-soaked way his eyes - so dark and vulnerable - gazed at me as I pulled away from his kiss in the lighthouse. The jealous pain within them when I broke down after breaking Jesse�s heart.

I see Mick in the club, in the alley, on the beach. His eyes, those eyes and then Danny. Danny � Danny.

My thoughts turn. The darkening of his pupils as his fingers pressed into my flesh, a sexual thrill lighting their depths. The satisfaction in knowing that he was causing me pain. The darkening of his pupils as I played with his lower lip. The tender yearning and need as I played upon his feelings for me.

�I wonder how things would be if I had met Danny first. Would I have left Jesse for him? Would I have given him the time? Would have he even noticed me? How can he love me when I killed his brother? If he killed Rick, I don�t think I could love him. But he loves me. He loves me.

�And, God help me, I love him. But he has the same eyes as Mick, momma. I never realized that. All this time, all these months, I never saw that.�

I see Mick�s eyes -- the flare of vicious joy as the tears fell from my eyes. The light of drug-induced glee as I struggled to get away. I see Danny�s eyes -- the smile lighting his face, beaming from his eyes when I ran to him in my bedroom, my lips molding to his.

The ecstasy in his eyes when we renewed our vows. His eyes. His eyes. The joyous desire in his gaze as we danced in solitude. The possession those eyes laid upon me when at last we made love. Danny�s eyes. Danny�s eyes. The laughter as he kissed me, his mouth tasting of chocolate. The determination to protect me from San Cristobel�s danger. My husband�s eyes. Danny�s eyes. His eyes. His eyes. The eyes of the man I love.

I wipe at my tears and push the straggling ends of my hair from my face. I hear a car in the distance and look up and then the engine�s sound fades. I wrap his coat tighter around me and lay down on my mother�s grave, curling my body into a ball. The grass and flowers I�d planted in the spring tickle my face. The wet dew mixes with my tears.

�I know they�re not the same. Mick was mean and cruel. Danny is sweet and wonderful. And he loves me. Mick just wanted me; I was just a body to him. To Danny, I�m everything.�

�I�m everything.� I repeat softly and I find myself smiling � Danny is nothing like Mick. How could I think even for a moment � How could I? I turn to look at my mother�s name. I must explain this to her.

�Danny is wonderful. Momma, he�s so wonderful, nothing like Mick. Nothing. Mick was a bad, bad man. He tried to hurt me, he was going to kill a friend, and me. Momma, he was going to rape me.�

I must look away from her name. I must tell her. I have to look away from her name.

�I killed Mick, too. Nino isn�t the first man I killed. I killed Mick, too, momma. Does that make me a bad person? I think so. Danny�s lived his whole life surrounded by guns and violence and crime and he�s never taken a life. I have. Twice. Momma, twice, I have. When I killed Mick, it was self-defense. I never told you about this. I never even told you how Danny and I first met.

�He was sent to kill me. He was supposed to kill me because I killed his brother, but he didn�t kill me. He fell in love with me, and he married me. And I hated him so much. And I�m so selfish, momma. I cared more about my life, the inconvenience to my life than I did about killing his brother. Until tonight I�d never even told him I was sorry. I�d never thought of the pain that he felt because his brother was dead.

�But it was an accident. I didn�t mean to. He was gonna kill Drew -� suddenly I stop, at last understanding the shock in Danny�s voice, the look on his face before I ran out of there. I had never told him that Drew was there.

�Oh, God, momma, what have I done? I didn�t tell him that night, I didn�t tell him that night on the beach. But I should have sometime, sometime, I just never thought about it. I never think about it. I never think about the fact that I killed someone. I am a bad person. I am not the girl you raised. I don�t think you would be proud of me. I don�t know if you could love me anymore. I don�t know how anyone can love me.

�I�m a bad person.� My voice drops to a whisper and tears clog my throat. �I�m a bad person.�

�Michelle �� I roll over and sit up, my gaze meeting Danny�s and he has that look of ineffable sadness upon his face again � in his eyes. And I see his eyes. I see the love. The care. The tenderness. I see my husband�s eyes and they are not his brother�s. The man within them is a better man. A kind man. A good man. The man I love.

And I ask of my mother � of my husband: �but how can you love me?� I look away from him. And the words fall from my lips, a hushed mantra; a realization that I have hid from myself since that night on the beach. �I�m a bad person. I�m a bad person. I�m a bad person. I�m a bad person �� the words fade into the air, but on and on they drone in my mind and he is silent behind me.

He does not dispute my words. My truth. I am a bad person.

�You�re not a bad person. You�re not.� And he kneels before me, taking me into his arms. I curve into him, my arms wrapping about his neck as he rains kisses upon my head, upon my face, murmuring �love you, you�re good. You�re wonderful. I love you so much.� He says and I cling to him, I cling to his words, needing to believe him. He sits back and I fall into his lap and he is cradling me, holding me as he strokes my hair as he comforts me.

I look up at him, needing to believe him. �I�m not bad, you don�t think I�m bad?� He shakes his head and wraps his arms tighter around me. I bury myself within the haven of his arms, speaking quickly, quietly.

�I had to talk to my mother. God, I wish you knew my mother. I wish she were here. I wish she were alive. I had to tell her. I never told her that I killed Mick. I never told her how I met you. I had to tell her. I told her about Nino, and about Mick. I told her that her daughter is a killer.�

�No,� he says immediately and his voice is firm and hard and there is just the slightest tremble in the word. He is fighting something, something inside. I know. I know him too well. I pull away and then I am out of his arms kneeling across from him before he can stop me.

�You do think I am.� It isn�t a question, nor a statement. It�s an accusation. �You think I�m a killer, a murderer. You think I�m a bad person.�

�No, I do not,� and he reaches for me again, but I pull away further. �Michelle �� he begins and then just stops. He looks down, away from me, his entire frame sighing in frustration? In anguish? In what? I don�t know. I don�t know him. I don�t know him at all.

�That night, that night I killed your brother, I�ve pushed aside. I�ve ignored. I�ve pretended that it didn�t happen -�

�-Michelle,� he interrupts me and I hear that trembling in his voice again. I can not define it. Is it fear? Why is he afraid? Why would he be afraid?

�But it did happen. Danny, it did and I�ve spent so long pretending -� again he interrupts me.

�-Michelle, I don�t want to talk about this now.� And the tremble is still there.

�Why? I want to talk about it.�

�I don�t. I don�t want to talk about this right now. Let�s go home. It�s late, it�s cold. You�re sitting here in a shirt and an overcoat. You�re gonna get sick -�

�I don�t WANT to go home!�

�We�re GOING HOME!� And the tremble has become a roar and I realize at last that it is anger.

�You hate me,� I look away from him. �I killed your brother, of course you hate me.� I feel dead inside. And then I laugh, not dead - Mick is dead. Nino is dead. I hear the dirt shift and stand up quickly, moving so that he can�t touch me.

�Michelle, I don�t hate you. I could never hate you. I just don�t� and he paused, �want,� again a pause, �to talk about this,� and he sighed and silence fell between us before he exhaled in a rush �tonight. I can�t.

�You could talk about it earlier.� And I finally look at him and he nods.

�Earlier, I didn�t know that you lied to me. You�re hurting right now, you don�t need accusations, and you don�t need a fight. You just need to come home and try to get some sleep. We�ll talk about this later.�

And I remember. Yes, I lied to him. Drew. I never told him that Drew was there. �This is about Drew being there that night.�

He is quiet and then softly, �yes.� And it is his turn to not look at me. �Can we please just go home?�

�Why does it matter? Nothing is different. Mick is still dead. I still killed him. I still killed your brother. I still killed Nino. What does it matter if Drew was there?� And I am before him, that slight taunt is back in my voice. He keeps trying to shut me down, doesn�t he see that I need this? Can�t he see that I need to talk about this?

�It matters because you lied to me. I don�t want to talk about this!� And he steps back, his arms spreading out. �I can�t. Because I am so,� he paused and exhaled, the air shaded white before him. �I am so hurt and angry right now. On top of that, I was shot. You -� and he is silent once more.

�I killed someone again.�

�Yes. You killed someone again. And you�re right, I don�t know how it feels. And I wish to God that you didn�t either. And I�m trying to understand; I�m trying to put aside the fact that you lied to me. You lied when you thought I would kill you and you still lied. It makes me wonder - what else have you lied about?�

�What?� I stumble back, lost in a rush of pain again. �I didn�t. I haven�t. I didn�t - Danny, this was a long time ago. I was scared, I didn�t know what I was thinking. I was trying - I haven�t ever lied to you since then. I mean, not about anything like that. I haven�t. I wouldn�t. I love you. I just need you to understand that. Understand what happened to me, I don�t see why it matters. Drew being there made no difference.�

�It makes a difference. It makes a difference.� He is quite for a moment and then he looks at me, smiling - but his smile is full of anger and there is nothing wonderful, nothing real in it. �Okay, fine, you want to talk about it. We�ll talk about it. Why didn�t you tell me about her?�

�I don�t know, I guess, you knew and you thought it was just me.� I find myself stumbling over words, avoiding that ghastly smile. �I was afraid if I changed my story that you would think I was lying, trying to protect Jesse. So I just stuck with what you knew. And I haven�t told you since then, because I never thought about it. I didn�t want to think about.�

�Okay. Okay, Michelle �� he says my name and I look back at him and thank God, the smile is gone and he is just Danny, his expression open, trying to understand. And so I must make him understand. I must help him, explain how I feel.

�-Danny, don�t you understand how hard this is? A year ago, I was a normal girl with a boyfriend, going to college. I had my whole life planned. And then your brother came along and that night on the beach changed me. But I couldn�t deal with it and maybe I would have if you hadn�t come along.�

�If I hadn�t come along �� and his voice is a whisper, and there is pain in that whisper.

�Danny, I was a different person and maybe I could have dealt with that night and just moved on, but I became your wife, I became immersed in this world and I didn�t even realize it. A year ago, I never, ever would have done what I did tonight. I killed a man. I took a gun and I killed a man.

�That�s not me! That�s not the daughter my mother raised. She�d be ashamed of me. She would think I�m a bad person,� and again that truth hits me.

�So, now this is all my fault?� God, he doesn�t understand. �Is that what you�re saying?� and the anger is now riding alongside the anguish and his eyes are so dark, so full of hurt and a part of me wants to run to him and take away the pain. But I can�t. I can�t. He must understand

�It�s not your fault. I�m not saying that. I�m trying to say that it�s because I love you.�

�Because you love me? What?� Now there is confusion. I must make him understand. He must understand.

�Because I love you, I�ve changed so much. Do you think that if I had a choice, I would be with you? Do you think I would live like this? Do you think that I would love you? I wish to God that I didn�t love you. I wish that I didn�t love you so much, that I didn�t love you at all. Tonight � tonight would never have happened. I never would have killed a man ��

�You killed him to save me! He was gonna kill me, Michelle -�

�Yes, Danny, that�s it right there. I killed a man because I love you. I love you so much that I took another life. That is what you make me do. That is what I have become because I love you.� Why can�t he understand? I beg silently. I ask God, I ask myself, I ask my mother. �Why can�t you understand?� I ask him. He must understand.

�You wish you didn�t love me?� And I can hear the tears in his voice. I look at him and they are falling down his cheeks. �You wish � is that what you see when you look at me? Someone you love despite yourself?�

�Yes,� I whisper softly. He understands.

�You see someone that you would give anything not to love? Not to want to be with?�

�Yes,� and I am crying too because he does understand. Because it is hurting him. Well, damnit, I�m hurting too. I am hurting. I am dying inside.

�It�s funny,� and he laughs, but there is no humor in the painful sound. �When I look at you, I see the woman I love. I see the woman that I thank God every day is in my life. I see the one who has brought me peace, who makes me feel whole. I see the woman I love with everything in me. Everything good I have ever been, everything good I am capable of being I see when I look at you.� And he laughs again. �And you see a man you wish you didn�t love.�

He turns away.

�Where are you going?� I ask his retreating form. He turns back to me and there is no emotion in his voice.

�Home. You stay here. You finish communing with your dead mother. Sorry to disturb you.� And his voice is fading as he walks further away from me. �Sorry to disturb your life.�

The door slams behind me, its sound a distant thud in my mind. I take off his overcoat and let it drop to the floor. I don�t care. I walk from the living room to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I wonder if I�m hungry. Before I�ve even answered the question, I�ve closed the door and walked out of the room. I suppose Danny is upstairs in bed.

I don�t want to face him. Not yet. I can�t.

I enter the living room again and note that the fire has burnt out. Without thought, I start it up again and then curl in the chair by it�s slowly simmering warmth. I listen for the sound of his footsteps. They do not come. He must not want to see me either right now.

Good, I think as my lids shut. The fire crackles before me, the wind howls outside. Life swirls around me, but inside I am dead. Dead like Nino. Dead like Mick.

I am dead.

The chill in the room wakes me. I glance over at the fireplace, surprised that Danny didn�t keep it going. This isn�t the first time I�ve fallen asleep down here, studying, reading; normally he covers me up and makes sure I�m comfortable. Sometimes, he picks me up and carries me to bed.

I stretch and rise to my feet, yawning widely.

�Danny?� I call out and glance at the clock on the mantle. It�s just after six; he should still be home. �Danny?� I call again as I head up the stairs, wondering idly why my mind is such a blank. As my hand trails along the banister, I notice bruising around my wrist. Pausing, I inspect one wrist and then the other � nearly identical marks on each one.

�Why �� I begin and then in a rush everything comes flooding back �.

The phone ringing, �if you want to see your husband before he dies I suggest you come down to Dock 17.� Rummaging through the drawer of scarves and ties, looking for the gun.

Nino smiling, his face bruised and bloodied.

The look on his face as he stared at my body. �You first.� My finger pressing down on the trigger. The sound of bullets hitting into flesh. Danny on the ground bleeding. �I killed a man because I love you.�

Throwing a bucket of dirty water onto bloody concrete.

Danny knocking me to the floor in answer to my desperate sexual need. Mick�s eyes. The feel of the spring flowers tickling my face as I lay on my mother�s grave. �This is about Drew being there that night.� �You lied to me.�

�I wish to God that I didn�t love you.� �I see the woman that I thank God every day is in my life. I see the one who has brought me peace, who makes me feel whole.�

�If you want to see your husband alive �� The sound of bullets hitting into flesh. My mother�s grave. �You lied to me.� �I wish to God that I didn�t love you.� �I see the one who has brought me peace.�

�Danny!� I cry his name as I run frantically up the stairs. �Danny! Danny!� and then I am at our bedroom door and my flight stops as I see what he has done.

Drawers are open, clothes spilling out. My dressing table is covered with spilt powder, my perfumes, makeup, hairbrush and accessories scattered across the top and falling onto the floor. The sheets are ripped off of the bed, pillows all around the room. The closet is opened and three of our four suitcases are falling haphazardly from their position.

I step into the room slowly � and my eyes continue to gaze at the ruin before me, unable to comprehend, unable to admit to myself what this means.

I think of last night, my words, his words at my mother�s grave �

�I killed a man because I love you. That is what I have become because I love you.�

�You wish you didn�t love me? You wish � is that what you see when you look at me? Someone you love despite yourself?�

�Yes,�

�When I look at you, I see the woman I love. I see the woman that I thank God every day is in my life. I see the one who has brought me peace, who makes me feel whole. I see the woman I love with everything in me. Everything good I have ever been, everything good I am capable of being I see when I look at you. And you see a man you wish you didn�t love.

�Sorry to disturb you. Sorry to disturb your life.�

I crawl onto the bed and try and swallow over the lump forming in my throat. The tears are scalding hot down my face, burning my skin. I stretch out across the bed, burying my face within the folds of the crumpled, displaced sheets � desperately trying to find a trace of his scent, his presence.

I wish to God that I didn�t love you.

I see the one who has brought me peace.

I wish to God that I didn�t love you.
I wish to God that I didn�t love you.
I wish to God that I didn�t love you.
I wish to God that I didn�t love you.

I open my eyes and look about the room, seeing the desolation of his heart in its horrible chaos.

He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone. He is gone.

I am still wearing his shirt. My hair is not brushed. I haven't eaten. I am a mess. And I don't care.

�Michelle, let me make you some soup?� Cassie�s voice comes from a distance. I shake my head. I don�t want to eat. I don�t want to sleep. I don�t want anything.

She begins to speak again and then stops. Out of the corner of my eye I see her slump back onto the sofa. We were supposed to meet for lunch today. Of course I didn�t show up. And so she came here. And I told her everything. My voice emotionless � dead. She just listened and I just talked and talked. If she was shocked that I killed another man, she didn�t say. She already knew about Mick. She already knew why Danny and I originally married.

The joys of bonding during rescue missions.

At last I look up at her.

�He�s gone. He left. He didn�t even leave a note. Why should he?� And then I am crying. �How could he do this to me? How could he leave me?!� And then she is beside me, holding on as I cry, incoherent words stumbling from my lips � and then everything boils down to one word, �why?�

She pulls back and looks at me, pushing my hair back. �Sweetie, I know you�re going through a lot right now, I can�t even begin to guess, but �� she trails off and looks away. She can�t even meet my eyes.

�What?�

�Michelle, when you told him that you wished you didn�t love him, you just, well, you ripped him apart, you broke his heart, you basically said I don't want your love, I don't want you, but hey I can't help myself. You struck away his belief of your togetherness.�

�But I love him. He knows I love him.�

�Michelle,� and she looks at me again, �yes, you love him, but you told him that if you had the choice you wouldn�t. You rejected him. You said he wasn�t worthy of you. No, you didn�t exactly say that, but you broke his heart.�

And then the tears overtake me again. �I didn�t mean -�

�-I know. I know that. And I�m sure he realizes that too, but still, it�s gotta hurt. Michelle, tell me this: Do you honestly wish you didn�t love him?�

I shake my head, but my words belie the action, �but things would be so different. I�d be happier. It�s because I love him that I�ve done the things I have.�

�Michelle, you can�t blame Danny for your actions. And what you did last night � you were protecting him. Almost any woman in love would do the exact same thing. That�s love. You look out for that person, you want them safe. When Hart died, he died because he took the bullet that Dinah meant for me. And Michelle, if I had had the means, I would have killed Dinah if it would have saved Hart�s life.�

I look up at her, and she meets my gaze steadily despite the sheen of tears there.

�Cassie, I�m sorry ��

�No,� she shakes her head slightly and brushes a falling tear away. �This is about you. Now, I�m asking you again: Do you really wish you didn�t love him? Think about it. Would you really give up all of the joy and the love that you have known with him because of the bad times?�

�Well,� I close my eyes, my head hurts. I can�t think. I�m so confused. I see Nino and Mick and Danny and everything is swirling together in this cacophony of noise in my brain. And then her voice reaches in, calm and clear and restores some sanity.

�Are the good times good enough that they are worth the bad times? Ask yourself that. If you had the choice, would you give up every happy moment with him, if it meant that you wouldn�t have had to experience any of the bad? Is the good worth the bad?� Cassie sits back and looks at me, the clarity of her gaze demanding an answer.

�Michelle, if the answer is no, than he was right to walk away. But if the answer is yes, then get yourself cleaned up, girl, and you go find him and you tell him that. You tell him that you were crazy with grief and guilt and panic and whatever else last night and you weren�t thinking and you were wrong. You were so wrong to say what you did.�

I close my eyes, my head shaking back forth. Suddenly her hands are on my shoulders and she is jolting me out of my refusal.

�What is your answer?� And her voice is firm. I turn my head to the side. �Michelle, yes or no? Is the good worth the bad?�

I slowly open my eyes and look at her. �Yes,� and then my eyes close again, tears seeping from beneath my lids, �yes.�

�Okay,� she lets go of me and stands up. �Get up.�

�I can�t -�

�Oh, yes, you can. You get up, you get ready and you go and find him.�

�I can�t.�

�Why not?� And her foot is tapping on the floor, the rat-a-tat-a-tat pounding in my brain.

�Because he hates me. Because he left me. If he loved me, he wouldn�t have left, he wouldn�t have walked out like that. When he comes back here, I�ll talk to -�

�-- Michelle! Listen to yourself,� she interrupts me, refusing me my self-pity. �I know you are upset, but think about Danny. No, think about your relationship. If you don�t go to him, the distance between you is going to grow. And if he does come back, a part of him will always wonder, always think that you don�t really want to be with him. You don�t really love him.�

�Cassie,� and my voice is withering. Who the hell does she think she is? �He knows that I love him. He knows that.�

�Why? Because you told him that you love him despite wishing to God you didn�t? Is that how he knows? Is that how you want him to think of you loving him?� She sits back down next to me and her voice is softer. �Michelle, I�ve been in love before and I�ve seen people in love before, but the only other couple I�ve seen who love each other as much as you and Danny do is my sister and Josh.

�When the two of you are together, there�s like some invisible connection between you. That doesn�t come along everyday. Most people live their entire lives without feeling anything even remotely like that. But you have it. Now, when you�re so young, when the both of you have the rest of your lives to be together - whether it be a year or sixty � you have true love, the kind they write fairytales about.

�Do not throw that feeling away because of your pride.�

I look at her and she looks so sincere, but I can�t.

�It�s not my pride �� I say softly, she doesn�t understand.

�Then what it is?� And her voice is so quiet, she is trying so hard to help me, but she doesn�t understand. I look away. I stand up and turn my back to her and when I speak, it is barely in a whisper.

�It�s my shame.�

Cassie is quiet as am I. I walk over to the fireplace and gaze at the pictures on the mantle. One of my father and mother. Rick and Abby. Aunt Meta. Bridget, Dylan and Peter. Carmen, Pilar and Ray. Alan-Michael and Lucy. And our wedding picture -- our �secret smile� captured on film. I reach out and carefully pick up the gilded frame, my finger tracing his face, the smile on his lips.

Move in closer,� the photographer cajoled as we stood away from our guests, wrapped in each other's arms, posing for posterity.

A huge grin lit Danny's face, �okay,� and a slightly self-conscious smile curved my lips as the photographer commanded, �okay, now hold hands.� Danny and I clasped hands rather awkwardly and the cameraman demurred, �nah, nah, nah, not like this.�

�Okay, not like this,� Danny repeated as we tried a different handhold. The photographer stepped over to us and re-arranged our hands, laying one on top of the other, �like this, both hands,� he explained.

With laughter in his voice, Danny commented, �I guess we should have skipped psych and taken, uh, wedding reception 101.�

I laughed at his joke as the photographer stepped back and we leaned our heads in close, smiling broadly as the camera snapped. �All right, now, I want you to look into each other's eyes, come'on.� Danny's smile dimmed slightly, but obediently he turned to look at me, �look into each other's eyes,� the photographer repeated, �and smile your secret smile.�

Laughter danced at the edges of our grins as I repeated in bemusement, �secret smile?� and a slight chuckle emerged from Danny as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against mine.

�All right, right there. Beautiful!� the photographer congratulated as he took his shot.

�Michelle?� Cassie�s voice is soft behind me. �Pride or shame doesn�t matter. Only love. You love him. Let him know that you love him, that you would always choose to love him. Give him that security, give him that much. You have it. You know how much he loves you. Give him the same confidence. Nothing else matters. Only the love.�

�Only the love �� I repeat quietly and turn to look at her. �It�s so hard. I don�t know how to face him. I don�t �� I trailed off and the tears were in my eyes.

�Do you love him?�

My gaze returns to our �secret smile� and I nod. �I love him so much. So much.�

�Then you do know how.�

I call Pilar first. She hasn�t seen Danny and as far she knows he hasn�t been to the house. I swallow my pride and speak to Carmen as well. She too doesn�t know where he is.

I set the phone down with a sigh. Lost and confused I turn to Cassie, �I was so sure he would be at his mother�s house.�

She sits down next to me, �okay, but now you know he�s not there. So where else would he go?� She is trying so hard to be my voice of patience and sanity, but the knowledge that Danny is out there suffering because of me � and I don�t know where he is, I can�t help him, is tearing me apart.

I look at her, shaking my head. I don�t know. �I don�t know. I can�t think �� and then the tears overtake me again. �What have I done?� I cry out, my voice hoarse. I drop my head, the sobs now controlling my body. I wrap my arms tightly around my waist, my eyes sealed shut and I see his face in the graveyard under the soft light of the moon � I see the anger and the pain � God, how could I say those things when he was in so much pain � when I was the one causing him that pain?

I tear open my eyes and Cassie is kneeling before me. Her face is blurry before my tear-filled eyes, �I caused him so much pain. I hurt him so much. How could I have done that to him? How could I have hurt him so badly? I love him.�

She rises up and wraps her arms around me, �Michelle,� her voice is soft, a soothing comfort, �it�s gonna be okay. I promise, it will be okay, you just have to find him. And when you do, he�ll understand. He will.� She pulls away and looks at me straight in the eye. �You just have to find him.�

I try the lighthouse, but there is no answer. I call Rick, catching him in his car and he swings by for me. Danny�s not there.

Ray. Abby. Bill. Matt. Josh. Jim. I call them all and then after I have exhausted our friends, I call Bernard and the other underworld figures I know by name. Following that, I resort to dialing every number in Danny�s address book.

Nothing.

No one has heard from him or seen him. I throw the phone down after hearing the hundredth �no� and glare at Cassie. �Just have to find him, right?� As the only witness to my pain and frustration, she is bearing the brunt of my roiling emotions. �Damnit!� I cry out and that heavy ache begins to grow in my chest, a tight pressure that just builds and builds. And the tears are sliding down my cheeks again, my world falling apart inside of me. I fall onto the sofa, deplete of anything other than pain.

�Michelle?� Cassie�s voice is hesitant as she sits beside me, �maybe you should call the police?�

I turn to look at her, �what are you suggesting?� I ask angrily.

She backs away slightly, �he might have gone drinking, and then a cop pulled him over for DUI. Wasn�t that his reaction the last time he �� her voice trails off.

�Left me? Walked away from me?� I close my eyes and dampen my anger. �No, he wouldn�t do that. Drink and drive, I mean. He just -� and then I stop abruptly, sitting up sharply. �Oh, God.� I get up and grab the fallen phone.

�Michelle? What?�

�I swear to God I�ll kill her. And him. I�ll kill them both �� and then the phone drops from my suddenly slack hand before I�ve even finished dialing Drew�s number.

Nino�s face, his malicious leer forming between the bruises, flashes in my mind and then Mick. Mick. I have killed. Twice, I have. I press a shaky hand to my mouth, breathing in shallow gasps. I remember � the sound of the bullet ripping into Nino�s body, the impact as he fell onto the concrete. The horrified shock on Mick�s face as death overtook him, the sand flying up around him �.

And then suddenly my breathing catches. I drop my hand and look up at Cassie, my eyes wide.

�I know,� I whisper softly.

I know where he is and my guilt is suspended as the certainty blooms within me.

�I know where he is.�

I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. I left the curls alone today, my hair pulled back on both sides with butterfly combs. Danny always preferred my hair natural. My eyes are bright - partly due to the make-up, partly to the anxiousness, fear and hope running rampant through my body. I chose red lipstick. I don't know why, I often wear pink, but my fingers seemed to reach for and turn the tube of Scarlet Dreams without thought. So lips of Scarlet Dreams it is.

I run my hands down my dress, curving over my body. I hadn't intended to grab this dress, but again my mind wasn't in control when I picked it. I suppose it was my heart. It is the white dress -- snug and fitted -- that I wore to Laurel Falls, the day we renewed our wedding vows.

I close my eyes for a minute, lost in remembrance of our wedding day.

The sun was shining so brightly, golden rays blushing through the green leaves, creating patterns upon the branches and tree trunks. We were getting married again - renewing our vows. I was filled with a happiness and peace I'd never before known. I looked up at him -- my husband -- and that same joy, that same serenity was all around him.

"When we got married the first time in front of everybody and we kissed, I was fighting it but I just realized that I was falling in love with you and I know it's gonna last forever."

I had to smile, remembering his vows on that day, how handsome he looked, how I knew somewhere inside of me that this man would love me forever.

"I want to promise my love for you before God right here." He said quietly, speaking of love as he hadn't that day so long ago.

"Me too, me too. And you know what's so great about this? I am already yours and I always will be. We just get to say it again!" The joy, the thrill of being with him, in the setting of my childhood dreams was almost more than my body could take. I had never known, never dreamed such happiness was possible.

" Just us," he intoned quietly.

And I had to agree, "just for us."

And he repeated my words, "just for us," with a smile beaming on his face.

"For us," I say to myself softly as my eyes open and I face my reflection once more.

For us.

The straps of my heels dangle loosely from my fingers as I make way to the spot where Mick died � where I killed him. I haven�t been here since the evening of January 8th, almost a year ago.

I pause, thinking of that date - January 8th. January 8th was my wedding day, I think in shock for a moment. Truly it was, yet I never think of it so. I glance down at my white dress, sparkling in the moonlight and realize that it was the July 2nd ceremony at Laurel Falls with just Danny and myself, Ray officiating, that is my heart�s wedding day � the day I will remember fifty years from now.

I wonder what day Danny will remember � if he�ll want to remember at all. I glance ahead at the upcoming turn of the path, wondering if I�m ready for this. Wondering again why I am so sure that he is here. Why would he be here? I�ve asked myself that question over and over during the drive � the same question that Cassie had asked.

I just told myself the same thing I�d said to her. I just know. He is here.

And here I am and I am frozen, unable to take another step towards him � but I must. One step at a time. The sand shifts beneath my bare feet and each one seems to ease the heavy ache I am carrying. One step and then another and this is the longest walk I have ever taken, but I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and keep on going because Danny will be there at the end.

His back is to me when I round the curve. He is sitting down; his head bent slightly, his fingers making angry dents in the sand. I pause in this moment to study him without his knowledge.

He is wearing his leather jacket and black pants. Sighing heavily, one hand rises and runs through those curls of his, grains of sand falling softly. I open my mouth to speak, but I don�t know what to say. I raise my foot to step forward, but find even that is too much for my cowardice to overcome.

�Mick really liked you,� his voice is emotionless and my first response is a helpless �oh� of startlement. Of course he would know that I am here. The connection goes both ways. �Did you know that?� he continues. �Did you know that he thought you were different too? I�d see him, meet up with him here and there - he was rarely at home. But those last couple of weeks, there was a new life in his step, a ready smile � or smirk in his case.

�He was such an asshole. I knew that of course, but he was my brother. I loved him. Just like you love your brother, right?� And then he turns and looks at me at last. �Right? You love your brother even if he�s an asshole?�

Everything in me wants to look away from the pain in his red-rimmed eyes. Everything, but I can not. I will not.

�I guess that�s family,� I manage to whisper.

�Yeah, family.� And then he looks away, back out to the undulating waves of the ocean. �He would talk about you, about your blond curls, that luscious mouth, a body that wouldn�t quit. He�d tell me how much he hated Jesse � hated the fact that Jesse got to fuck you on a regular basis.�

I wince at the vulgarity, but if he notices he doesn�t show it.

�He wanted you so much. He�d tell me his Goddamn wet dreams about you. And when I saw you for the first time � I mean alone, when you were sitting at the table all by yourself, those curls wild and falling all over that place. You were wearing a tight sweater, I think it was red or pink,� he glances over at me and smiles - a genuine smile, �probably pink,� and then his smile fades and he looks away again. �Anyway, I looked at you and I thought of Mick�s fantasies about ripping your clothes off, awakening the wild woman beneath that Quaker girl front.�

He looks back down at the sand. �That�s what he called you. A Quaker girl. And I thought, I thought at first before you told me what really happened that night �� and then he laughs, �not that you really told me what happened that night.�

�Danny �� I begin, but he holds his hand up and I fall silent.

�I thought that Mick was onto something, about you, I mean. That maybe behind those angry words about Mick, that supposed dislike that you wanted him too � or maybe just someone else, a lot of someone else�s. Maybe it was all just a fa�ade. The way you would look at me some times, the way you didn�t react to my kiss. Do you remember the first time I kissed you?� And he looks at me again.

I nod helplessly. My mind drifting back to that day outside the diner. The way he walked up to me, the feel of his hand wrapped around my neck, the hard, yet soft brush of his lips against mine, the urgent pressure his thumb applied to my cheek, the amazing sensations that flitted through my body � physical, sexual sensations that I had never come close to feeling before.

�I expected you to push me away, to hit me, to yell at me. I expected anger, disgust, but you didn�t do that, any of that. You just stood there and let me, more than let me, your lips moved beneath mine, soft and giving and I had to pull away because I - I was losing myself, I wanted to keep on kissing you forever and that wasn�t the objective. See, I just wanted to shake you up, but you shook me up � because I thought that you would have let me go on kissing you.�

He looks away again and rises to his feet, his back to me. �But I thought � I thought maybe Mick was right about you. You claimed to not want to have anything to do with me, but your actions, the way you would look at me some times, the way you let me kiss you, touch you , didn�t say that � didn�t reject me and I�d think, is this what she did to Mick? I mean, no wonder she drove him so crazy. You were driving me crazy.�

�Danny,� I try again and his stance stiffens, but I go on none-the-less. �It was different with you. It was always different -�

�-I know that.� And he turns to me. �I know that now, I knew after the night on the beach, Thanksgiving, the fear in your eyes, in your voice when you said that Jesse didn�t even know what he�d done to you. I knew that you were scared of him. And when you said that to me, when you told me something that you hadn�t even told Jesse, I knew then that it was me. The same way I felt about you, you felt it too, you just denied it a hell of a lot longer than I did.�

I take a step towards him. �Yes, I did. But I�m not now. I haven�t in a long time. I love you, Danny.�

�Yeah,� he turns to face me, bitterness drawn in his face. �You love me so much that you would give anything not to love me.� And then he laughs, a harsh, painful laugh.

I want to run to him. I want to just take him into my arms and hold him close forever, take away his pain. I actually step towards him and perhaps my intention is on my face because he turns from me quickly and his body shudders as he painfully whispers "no."

And so I stop.

"Danny, I�m sorry." And I can feel the tickling in the back of my nose, my throat, the prickling behind my eyes, the painful heat as the tears beg to fall. "I�m so sorry about what I said. I didn�t mean it. I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than anything, more than anyone ever in my life. I would never give up what we have, what I have in you."

And then I do step forward and although the shifting of the sands is slight, he hears my approach and his body stiffens. Again, I stop. "Danny, I am so sorry. If I could take it back," and then the tears break free and I am crying, trying to speak over the sobs building in my throat. I step to him and reach out, my hand brushing against the leather and he shrugs me off. "Go home, Michelle."

"No, Danny, look at me. You�ve got to look at me."

He shakes his head slowly and it is too much. He needs to meet me halfway. It�s not as if he is perfect. Damnit, he�s made mistakes too and the frustration that has been building in me all day, the remaining anguish and guilt from the docks, all of it rushes through me. He has to look at me.

�LOOK AT ME!� I scream and he does; he turns to face me and there are wet tracks on his face. He angrily brushes them away and looks at the space above my head. "Danny, I love you! I didn�t mean it. I swear, I didn�t mean what I said."

His eyes close, "you did -" his voice is hard and I interrupt frantically, "no, I didn�t. I was crazy, I was stupid, but I didn�t mean what I said."

And then he finally looks at me, his eyes as hard as his voice is no longer. His voice shakes and the tremble is from anger and pain and I don�t know. I don�t know. "You did. You were at your mother�s grave. You wouldn�t lie when you were standing on her grave. You wouldn�t do that. You were upset, right? Right?"

"Yes! Yes! But that doesn�t mean -"

"- it does! Michelle, it does! You weren�t thinking of protecting me or my feelings, you were speaking from the heart. You don�t want to love me. I make you miserable-"

"No!" I close my eyes. I try to breathe, try to control my emotions, try to find the words to make him understand. "No," I repeat quietly. You�re wrong. I was wrong. I do love you," and I pause and then he jumps in.

"Yes, you love me, Michelle" and his voice is bitter and the way he says my name is like a curse, "but," and he steps towards me, towering over me, his eyes meeting mine completely for the first time that night, "you wish to God that you didn�t."

I shake my head back and forth as he steps away. "Go home, Michelle," he mutters again, his voice dead once more and he turns away.

"What do I have to do? What do I have to say to convince you? I was wrong! Okay," and I reach out and grab his arm, pulling at it with all my strength, forcing him to face me. "I was wrong!" and the tears are garbling my words. He jerks his arm back and I fall to the ground, on my knees. I fall down on all fours, my breathing ragged, my heart broken.

"What do you want me to say?" I demand of the ground and he doesn�t respond. I push myself back up and gaze at him. I kneel before him on my knees, desperation awash in my gaze. "Do you want me to beg you for forgiveness? I�ll beg. I�ll do whatever you want. Just believe me." The tears continue falling and they are hot, so hot and so thick that I can barely see. "I love you. I love you, Danny. I was wrong. What do I have to do? Tell me, just tell me and I�ll do it."

He looks down at me and the pain I know that is on my face is mirrored on his and his voice is hoarse and husky and filled with more anguish than I�ve ever heard.

"Take it back. Make it so that you never said those words to me. Take it back, Michelle."

�I can�t take it back.� My voice is heavy with regret. He nods and looks away. �Danny, I can�t take it back, just I like I can�t take away what happened that night on this beach. I can�t take away his death, or the fact that Drew was here and I never told you.� I seem to have lost the capacity for tears. My throat is sore, but my eyes are drying.

�We have both made so many mistakes, done so many things that we can�t --� and I look up at him, needing him to look at me and he is already gazing straight at me. �We can�t just take it all back.�

�If we could �� he says softly.

�If we could, I never would have killed your brother, but then would I have met you? I wouldn�t have called the FBI. You wouldn�t have slept with Drew. So many things, Danny, we�re only human, we make mistakes. You do. I do. And last night, I made a mistake, I said something in my grief � in my guilt that I didn�t mean. You have to know how much I love you.�

He shakes his head back and forth. I don�t know what to say then. I am at a loss.

�I know you love me,� he finally speaks, �but it hurts because when you said that last night, I felt it. I believed it. I still do.�

And then the tears return. And I am once again helpless to stop them.

�I love you so much.� His voice is so soft, it�s nearly a whisper and I can hear the tears choking his voice. �Michelle, I love you �� I love you too, I think, but do not say. �I would give anything for you, to be with, do anything and I look at you sometimes and I think, it�s not the same for you. I wonder: when is she gonna leave me? When is she gonna walk away? When is she gonna realize that she doesn�t really love me? I question that you love me every single day of my life, of course I believed you last night. How could I not?�

He is quiet and so I am. The moments pass by and the air around us goes thick with words spoken and unspoken. Finally, he sits down in front of me, his hands gripping fists of sand. I look up at him, but his gaze is directed downwards.

�Danny, Aunt Meta told me something once.� My voice is suprisingly steady. Perhaps he looks up because of this. My eyes are clear and I see his face without the veil of tears.

�She told me that it�s better when a man loves a woman just a little bit more. I never forgot that, thought it made sense and besides it�s always been the case for me.� I smile slightly, not in joy or bitterness, just in acknowledgment. �I�ve known Bill since we were practically born and everyone thought we would be together someday, marry, have 2.5 kids, the picket fence, the dog in front of the fireplace. The whole nine yards, you know?�

He nods, but I can see the confusion in his eyes � still, he is listening. He is listening to me.

�It worked in theory, you know, because Bill always liked me better. I was in control. I made the decisions; I had the final say. But then we grew up and I didn�t like him that way, and maybe he still liked me, but I was in control. I had the final say and so the scenario changed. I knew a few other guys, but Jesse was my first real boyfriend and it was the same with him. I was in control. He loved me just a little bit more. And that was how it should be. And I believed that that is how it was with you.�

I look down, my gaze trapped by the gentle patterns he is making in the sand. �I love you, but I wanted to believe that you loved me just that little bit more,� and a silent tear slips from my eye, �because that meant I was in control. I couldn�t be hurt ... not really. Not completely.�

I stop and let out a heavy sigh. I�ve never talked about this; I�ve never wanted to. It�s been easier - so much easier - to just keep it locked away.

�Michelle?� his voice is quiet, just the slightest tremble in the word. I shut my eyes tight, a few more tears spilling forth and then I open them, looking at my husband.

�My mother loved my father so much. She was already a forgiving woman, but for him, she went the extra mile � she was willing to forgive him just about anything. She loved him so much. His late hours, his dedication to his patients that often superseded the needs of his family, his affairs, his alcoholism � she forgave him, she supported him, she accepted him � completely.�

I laugh lightly and look up into the sky. The stars are so bright, the moon glowing like a beacon and I think that I can feel my soul being cleansed the same pristine color as I speak. �I never told you this, I don�t like to talk about it, but I was conceived out of one of my father�s affairs.�

I glance at him quickly to catch his reaction - his expression does not change. He looks reflective, he is listening to me. Truly listening to what I am saying and hearing what I mean, what is behind the words.

�So Maureen Bauer is not �� he begins.

�-my birth mother. No, she�s not. Claire Ramsey is my birth mother�s name. Basically, she was a lousy mother, so lousy that after my mother -- Maureen, that is - forgave my father, they petitioned the courts for full custody and it was granted and Maureen adopted me. I don�t know even know what Claire Ramsey looks like now. I saw her picture once. She wasn�t my mother.�

I look away again as I ask him, �do you know how my mother died?�

�A car accident, right?�

I look at him, �technically yes. My mother died in a car accident. But do you know why she was in that car?�

�No,� he says softly as he shakes his head.

�She had just found out that he had an affair with Lillian Raines, one my mother�s best friends. I was upstairs in my room, covering my ears, trying not to hear their fighting. Her cries, the pain in her voice. His useless, stupid defense. Lillian was sick, Lillian needed a friend. Lillian needed comfort.� I laugh and it comes out harsher than I intended, as do my next words, �just like Drew.�

My eyes follow the sudden tightening of his hands, but I don�t take the words back. I couldn�t if I tried. �It hurt me so much, because it wasn�t just a drunken, one night stand � not to me. Just like my father, you slept with a friend when she needed comfort.�

�No,� and he looks up at me. �No,� he repeats with more vehemence in his voice. �Not because she needed comfort. I didn�t care about her. I cared about me - I cared about what you had done to me. It had nothing to do with her - and it certainly wasn�t the first or second or hundredth in a line of affairs. I am not your father. If I had believed once during that night that you cared about me just a little, that our marriage had even the slightest chance of working I wouldn�t have touched her.�

I close my eyes, nodding my head. �I know. I know that now, but then, that�s all I could think of, but I couldn�t tell you that. I couldn�t tell you all of it � why it hurt me so much, Danny.�

�Why not? Why couldn�t you tell me? Why now?� There is so much confusion in his eyes, in his voice and I realize how much I have held back from him without ever meaning to, but I had.

�I couldn�t give myself to you completely. I couldn�t do that. I couldn�t give you the power to hurt me like my father hurt my mother. I refused to allow that I could love you as much as you loved me - I needed that extra bit that you gave me. I needed my control.

�But last night, when Nino,� and I stop, his face and then his lifeless body swarming before my eyes. I breathe in and out, trying to hold on to the words I need to tell my husband, trying to escape the horror of what I�d done. And then Danny�s hand is on my arm, he doesn�t take me into his embrace, but he touches me and that contact is enough to give me back my equilibrium.

�It�s hard,� I say shakily. �It just keeps hitting me, you know? What I did.�

He nods and the rubbing on my arm lightens until it is just a caress, a soft, soothing caress. Neither one of us speaks and the mood shifts slightly in the air. I find myself swaying towards him and our eyes meet. His are dark and smoky and I want him, I want to be with him with everything in me but I can�t.

I tear my gaze away, and hear his sigh as he drops his arm.

�What about Nino?� he asks shakily.

I am silent for a moment, searching for my train of thought. My mother. Nino. Control. My control. �When Nino called and he said that he was going to kill you, something inside of me snapped and I didn�t even realize it. I didn�t. But I do now. I realized it this afternoon. Cassie asked me if loving you, if the good times were worth the bad times and I knew they were � without doubt, I knew.

�And I knew that I said those things last night because I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to make myself not love you so much. I wanted my control back. See, that�s what snapped, that�s what I lost. Or maybe it was always just an illusion. An illusion that I�ve held onto for so long because when you slept with Drew, when you did that, it was my father all over again.�

�I get that, Michelle, I do. I get that now, but -�

�-Danny,� I have to cut him off, because he doesn�t get it. He doesn�t. �It�s not about Drew. It�s not even about my father and his affairs. Last night, what I said to you - it was because of the realization that I did love you, I loved you as much as you loved me. I would do anything, anything for you. I was just like my mother. And those words came from that twelve-year old girl who heard her mother�s heart breaking - not from the woman who loves you now.�

He is quiet then, as am I. I have no more words to say. I can think of nothing else that will appease him, that will make him believe in me, believe in my love for him.

He begins once again making patterns in the sand and I find myself looking closely, trying to discern what he is drawing. I catch a crescent shape, two designs that I can not make out, a straight line followed by another and then one more shape, similar to an earlier one. He repeats the markings over and over, and I move over slightly to him, angling my head and after a few more run throughs, I realize that they are letters. M-I-C-H-E-L-L-E. He is spelling my name. Over and over again, he is spelling Michelle.

I gaze up at him, but he is concentrating, intent on making each letter as distinct and clear as he can in the sand. I open my mouth to speak his name, but something inside tells me to remain silent.

And so I do. I sit in silence, looking at him, re-memorizing the lines of his face, the juts and planes, the shape of his lips, their shade, the length of his lashes. He stiffens slightly, his body, his face tensing and I know that he is aware of my scrutiny, but still he does not speak. Neither do I.

Moments pass and the determined etch of his sandwork slows down. Still he will not speak. He will not look at me. The longing to say his name, speak to him grows within me, but I do not. I will not. It is his move to make.

Minutes pass and he is no longer making sense in the sand. Half-circles, wavy lines, long pauses, squares, rectangles, another pause, triangles, circles and then he is gripping the sand in his hand, watching the grains slip through his fingers. I watch this out of the corner of my eye; my main focus remains his face.

I lose track of time and he is still, a tension spiraling around him. I watch his face and his eyes are darting from the sandy floor before him, to the rocks, to the ocean, back to the floor � everywhere but at me.

The tension shadowing him grows to enclose us both. Everything inside of me screams out - LOOK AT ME! TALK TO ME! He remains silent. And the minutes drag and drag and I find myself studying his fingers, the length of them, my body instinctively remembering their suppleness and strength, their magic. The slight pressure of his fingers against my cheek, my throat.

I gaze at his arms, encased in leather. The feel of them wrapped about me. His lips. Soft and insistent upon my own, tasting of chocolate � of Brandy � of Danny. Moving across my face, lightly dancing across my brow, my eyelashes, moist across the column of my throat, the rise of my collarbone, pressing against the swell of my breast, suckling my nipple. His lips, soft and sugary upon my stomach, grazing my inner thighs. His tongue, slipping inside me, tasting me, unnerving me, unwrenching my soul.

I can not sit still. I squirm, but do not fight the rising tide of hunger racing through me as I look at him. His thighs. His hands. His face. His eyes.

His eyes.

He is looking at me.

His eyes are dark, heat spiraling within them. I wait for him to speak, but he does not, he merely stares at me and as I look at him, I realize no words are necessary. Passion clear as the moon in the sky burns feverishly in his eyes. My breath is caught and I find myself suspended in a moment of rapture as he moves closer to me. His eyes never leave my own.

His hand crosses the distance between us, his fingers resting softly upon my cheek and in his eyes, alongside the heat lies an instant - long enough - of understanding. His thumb glides softly, slowly upon my bottom lip and I at last release breath; it is shaky and uneven.

His eyes are so soft -- soft and warm like honey, like velvet -- and so full of the heat and desire I know so well. I can not bear their intensity, mine own shut as he parts my lips, his thumb slipping inside to gently brush against my tongue. And then he speaks and his voice is that husky entreaty - a verbal erection � �Open your eyes. Look at me.�

I am helpless to resist. I open my eyes and immediately I am captured, lost and drowning; he is my anchor and so I hold onto him. My hand reaches out, gripping his arm tightly. His thumb exits my mouth, trailing down my chin, my throat leaving a moist thread of desire across my flesh.

He leans in slowly and as he closes each inch of space between us, I feel a millennium pass. Once again my lids slide shut and once again he speaks.

�Look at me.�

And I do, my eyes opening to gaze upon that face I love so. His lips brush softly against my lower lip, just the slightest caress � and his eyes remain open, looking down upon my mouth. Pulling away slightly, his fingers curl about my throat and cheek as his eyes meet mine for an instant before slipping to my lips once more.

I lean into him, answering his kiss with my own. I lightly run my tongue across his lower lip and then the top one before sliding it into his mouth, finding his and he meets me as his fingers press more firmly into my flesh, as his hand curves about my waist, moving up my back. He rises above me as he cradles the nape of my neck within his palm, his lips, his tongue, his mouth devouring me and I welcome the ravishment. My fingers have moved from his arms; I clutch at the folds of his leather jacket as he lowers me down onto the sandy beach.

I am lost in him. Gently, he rests my head upon the sand as his lips leave my own, once more traversing the flesh of my throat. His hand glides down before his mouth, riding over the snug bodice of my white wedding day dress, cupping my breast and then catching my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I gaze up at the moonlit, star-struck sky and think again, I am lost in this man. And then he lifts his head and looks at me.

�Look at me,� he commands once again. And I do.

And I realize, as our eyes meet that I am not lost, never lost with him again. I am found.

I rest against him, sitting between his knees. My arms entwine about his neck as his lips trail down my throat. His fingers push the wide strap of my dress down. His tongue tastes the curve of my shoulder. And then the other strap is pushed down and he pulls back, his head descending to capture my lips in a kiss that leaves me breathless.

I feel the cool night air upon my breasts as the straps slide down my arms, the bodice slipping to my waist and again he pulls away, gently lying me down upon his leather jacket, spread out upon the sandy floor. My arms fall away from him, my fingers trailing in the sand. His head dips, his lips pressing soft kisses upon my collarbone, the swell of my breast. His teeth graze the hardened peak for a moment and I cry out.

And then his tongue is a loving balm. And then his teeth again. His hand moves to cup my breast and I rise slightly, my back arched as he takes my nipple into his mouth ... as his fingers caress and fondle, stroke and ease the tormenting ache of heaviness building within me.

Sliding my dress down over my hips, his lips trail across my stomach, his tongue encircles my belly button and I giggle despite the sensations roiling through my body. At the sound, he glances up and a smile is alight upon his face -- a beautiful, beautiful smile of happiness. I find myself smiling back and then I am sitting up, my hands cupping his face as I take his mouth with my own.

He slides the dress down my hips as my tongue settles easily into the rhythm that it knows so well, dancing with his. And then his hands are in my hair, his fingers tangled in the curls. Our lips part, meld, his palm now cupping my face, I breath between a kiss, "I love you," and as his lips part from mine, he pulls away and looks at me. Looking straight into my eyes.

He gazes at me for a long time. Even as our breathing resumes normalcy, he looks at me, staring into my eyes and I am held captive and silent by his gaze. And the smile is gone from his face and he looks as serious as I have ever seen him, but there is a confidence with which he gazes at me. A knowing surety and I feel an ache in my heart that I was not even aware that he had never looked at me so before with such assurance. "I love you," I whisper and he nods slightly.

"When you look at me, who do you see?" he asks and his voice is solemn. I shake my head slightly, puzzled. "Do you see your father? The man your father was with your mother?"

And then I understand. Shaking my head I reply just as solemnly, "no, not anymore. I look at you and I see only you. I don't see my father, or your brother. I see you. Danny. My husband." And I find myself smiling again, that smile filling my words. "The man I love. The man that I thank God is in my life, because you are my life, Danny. We are my life."

He nods once more. "I believe you." He says. And I can see that belief in his eyes, in the faith in his voice. He believes me. Our lips meet again as he once more lowers me to the sandy beach, his hands move down by body, pushing my dress all the way off. The urgency of moments before returns with a fiery vengeance as his fingers grasp the corners of my underwear and his tongue is once more tracing a pattern down my throat, over the slopes of my breast.

I am lost. I am found.

"Danny," I sigh into the cool air, the cool air a soothing balm for the fever rushing through me as his head descends, his breath hovering over the honey blond curls below, his tongue dipping out to taste me and then withdrawing in an instant. I moan as my fingers clutch at his hair, "Danny," I cry out, my voice a plea of longing and desire. And again, his tongue brushes against the moist core of me for a moment, no longer, but I want more. I need more.

My back arches as I push my hips up, silently entreating the touch, the feel of him. An eternity seems to pass before his tongue returns, his hands on either side of my inner thighs as his lips and tongue - God, his tongue - his fingers render me speechless, incoherent with their magic. I squirm beneath him, my body writhing upon the sandy beach, the sound of the waves crashing mirroring the blood pounding, pumping through my body.

And I am soaring, cast outside of myself as colors rainbow and then bleed to black beneath my closed lids. My breathing saunters from ragged and desperate to soft and steady and soon it matches the feel of his breath against my thigh. We lay still for a moment and I hear the faint sound of a snap, a zipper and then just as I have recaptured a semblance of calm, he rises above me suddenly, moving atop my body. One hand curves about my neck, his lips devouring mine.

I taste myself as his tongue thrusts into my mouth ... as he thrusts into me. My body rises to the rhythm he creates, my arms wrap tightly about his shoulders, my nails dig into his back and our lips part. My head falls back, my eyes shut as he moves within me, filling me completely and we are one ... one body, one soul. His voice dances through me, soft and husky, sexy as a dream, wanton as a fever, "look at me. Baby, open your eyes and look at me."

And I do. I open my eyes and find him looking at me and the reality, the life, the love, the everything I have found with this man, in this man fill me. I love him. I love him, I think. "I love you," I say and he comes inside me at that moment, at the sound of those words and I cry out, fulfilled passion scattering reason, thought, everything, everything but pleasure, but joy ... but love.

It has been two months. The police put Nino's death down to bad blood within the Mafia. And although it was never spoken aloud, the other families have concluded that Danny finally put Nino in his place. He has done nothing to disabuse them of that notion. I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, seeing his face, his bloody, sprawled body on the cold concrete. When I wake though, sweaty and in tears, Danny is always there. He holds me, he listens, he talks, he comforts me, kisses me and tells me that he loves me.

He always loves me.

Yesterday was our first anniversary ... of our first wedding, the civil ceremony. I had wondered aloud to my mother's memory that it was ironic. Because I killed a man, I am a married woman and because I killed another, the foundation of my marriage is stronger than ever before. Danny heard me say that and came up behind me, winding his arms around my waist, his voice low and soft in my ear.

"You are a married woman because I fell in love with you. And our marriage is strong because we love each other, we trust each other. We talk to each other." And then he turned me around to look into my eyes. "We are together because of love ... not death. Love."

And he had kissed me. I silently promised myself that I would put the past behind me. As much as I love Danny, I have to believe that we would have found each other with or without his brother. It was love that brought us together. It is love that will keep us together. Love. And I kissed him back.

The toast is black, the eggs are brown and the bacon is in brittle pieces. Danny looks up at me with a smile. "The orange juice is fresh."

I grimace, "frozen from concentrate." Standing up, I gather our plates and walk over to the sink. "So, pizza for breakfast again?" I mutter as I unceremoniously begin to dump my attempts at cooking down the disposal.

"Speed-dialed Pizza Queen when the fire alarm went off," he responds cheerfully. I nod and turn to face him.

"Sorry, I just wanted to be a proper wife and make you a proper breakfast." He walks over and pulls me into his arms. "I like you just the way you are - improper," and his smile becomes a leer as his eyes rove up and down my body, then he sniffs the air, "and incapable of not burning everything to a crisp."

I slap his arms and push away, "you say that now, but what happens when Pizza Queen closes down?"

"There's always Chinese," he offers with a grin. I can't help but smile back, but I really do feel terrible. He walks over and kisses me on the cheek, 'babe, it's okay. Really." He looks down at me, "really," he repeats as the doorbell chimes. "I like pizza. I love pizza. I'm gonna get my pizza."

I watch him go, pulling off my apron with irritation. I glance over at the charred remains of breakfast and glare at my culinary effort. Feeling incredibly childish, but not caring, I stamp my feet, "arrggh!" I cry out and feel slightly better. Danny's voice floats in from the living room and I shake off my annoyance, going to join him.

"Do I know you?" I hear him say and there is an edge in his voice. I feel a momentary twinge of apprehension. He is standing in the doorway, blocking my view, and I'm sure it's not our breakfast being delivered. And then the visitor responds. "No, you don't, but you will."

And all feelings of unease dissipate in a rush of shock and elation. Danny moves slightly and I see him. "Oh my God!" I cry out, running to the door, pushing my husband roughly aside in my joy and haste.

I throw myself into his arms, and am crying before another moment has passed. We stand there in the doorway embracing, crying, laughing. And then I pull away slightly, and turn to look at Danny. "This is Daniel Santos, my husband," and I know that pride and happiness fill my voice, beaming from my smile. "Danny, this is my father, Dr. Ed Bauer."

The End