What Might Have Been

He grips me around my waist, then brushes back my hair. "No, not at all. That's why I just treated you to dinner and can't wait to take you back to my place and am just seconds away from kissing you in the twilight of this special Saturday."

I tear up as he pulls me to him. Then he does what he just said. Good thing I wore panties, 'cause my juices would be running down my legs. He grinds his pelvis into mine, then shoves his hand down my panties and squeezes my butt. "I could make love to you right here," he says.

"Then do it, damn it," I say. "Or scoot me back to your place."

Discretion wins out. He takes me back to his house, a cute brick ranger in an older suburban development. It's actually bigger than it looks from the outside, with three bedrooms, two full baths and an eat-in kitchen. I figure he's going to push me into the master bedroom right away and then do what people do in bedrooms besides sleep. But no. Instead, he pulls out two glasses from the kitchen cabinet. "White Merlot okay?" I nod, then he pours us some from the fridge and then we take seats on his backyard patio. I've had the darker Merlot, a drier wine than this sweeter stuff, but the White kind suits me just fine, not least because I'm sharing it with Kip in the peaceful darkness of a balmy spring evening.

We sit close on cushioned iron chairs. Reaching out, I take his hand and say, "This is nice, Kip, my idea of romance."

"Mine too," he says. He then turns away, looks lost in thought. Minutes later, he says. "This is so weird."

"What is?"

Turning back to me, he says, "Oh, the fact that we were practically strangers when you were on my caseload and now we're sharing a glass of wine, being intimate. Quite a leap."

I take a sip. "I'm okay with it, hope you are."

He turns, leans in and kisses me. "Of course. You asked me before if I REALLY liked you. Well, I do, and not just because I find you sexy, but because I'm so impressed with how far you've come, how you've overcome adversity and taken a positive path in your life. You seem happy despite all the bad stuff you faced growing up. You seemed that way when I supervised you. How do you do it?"

I shrug. "Somewhere I heard that happiness is a gift that some people are just born with. I don't know, I just try to stay optimistic, try to keep an eye on the next horizon. Some people dwell on what could have been or might have been, what their life would be like if this or that happened or didn't happen. Me, I focus on what is and try to make the best of it."

After pausing to let him absorb this, I say, "Anyway, I'm glad you're so impressed. Now let's get back to the sexy part." I throw a leg over his leg, exposing my whole thigh.

He gives it an impromptu massage. "Yum, smooth as velvet," he says, and begins to work his way up toward my crotch. I tell him to keep going and he does, tickling his fingers over my panties. "Feels like you're getting wet. Shall we repair to the bedroom, Miss Hofstadter?"

"I'd say that's a fine idea, Agent Wachter."

After we kick off our shoes, he begins to undress me as we stand beside his twin-sized bed. No guy ever undressed me like this. Either they ripped at my clothes or I undressed myself. Slow and gentle, he zips down my dress, then unsnaps my bra, then takes down my panties. In seconds, his own clothes are off and then, still standing, he holds and kisses me. "You're a terrific girl, Melissa," he says.

'No, I'm just an average chick, nothing special,' I think, though I don't argue with his opinion. "Thanks, I'm with a terrific guy."

He's got one terrific erection, that's for sure. I stoop down and put my mouth around it. "You're doing a great job," he says, "but I'd rather come inside you."

I nod and stand as he opens his night table and pulls out a box of condoms. "Not necessary," I say, telling him I'm on the pill. Further foreplay isn't required for me—I'm wet to the max. Regardless, I don't stop him when we lie down and he goes to work with his tongue, working his way down from my boobs to my pussy. "You're delicious," he says. "You taste as great as you smell."

Ohmygod, inside and out, this man makes me feel so good, I can barely stand it! I cry out, "Where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting for you to get off probation."

"Worth the wait?"

"Well worth the wait."

Guiding him inside me, words morph into sounds of pleasure, enlivening the four walls of his shaded bedroom. Superlatives fill my head, words I leave unspoken as I surrender to the moment and his tender loving care. TLC. So cliché, I know, but so appropriate for the tender, gentle way he makes love to me, kissing me, adjusting his rhythm to mine and then climaxing only after I do. "Ladies first," he jokes.

"Okay, but in round two, feel free to go first," I say as we hold each other.

"Round two?"

"Um, yeah. There will be a round two, right?"

He plants light kisses on my breasts. "I love your presumptuousness, Melissa. Of course they'll be a round two, maybe even a round three. I'm even hoping you'll stay the night and then join me for breakfast at the Double-T."

"Your invite is very much appreciated and accepted," I say.

Kip keeps his word and then some. There is a round two, then a round three, and then blissful sleep next to this amazing man. Well, almost blissful. I awaken in the darkness of early morning, shaking from a nightmare about Frank. In the dream, I'm running away from him, or at least trying to. My leaden legs can hardly move and I'm screaming. Then...I'd rather forget what came next. I reach out for Kip to comfort me, but he's lost to the world. It takes me close to an hour to fall back asleep. My plans to spare Kip my nightmare fall through over breakfast when he notices my "glum demeanor," as he puts it.

"You're obviously terrified what he might do," Kip says.

"Yes."

"Okay, promise me one thing. If he gets in your way again, that first you'll call the police and then me."

Grinning, I say, "How about you first and then the police?"

He sighs. "Whatever you think will work best. Just be careful, vigilant like I said, okay?"

I begin to lighten up. My Western omelet is delicious and I'm with someone who I'm beginning to think of as my boyfriend. Presumptuous me, I know, but when Kip drops me off at my apartment, his loving words and goodbye kisses lead me to believe that we're on the same wavelength. "Maybe we can meet for lunch this week," he says. "I really can't wait to see you again. And while we're on the subject, are you up for a trip through Skyline Drive in the next couple weeks?"

I enter my apartment, happier than I've been in a long time, feeling like I'm on Skyline Drive already. If Merva thinks I was giddy last week, I can just imagine what she'll say when she sees me at work on Monday. Life is definitely looking up.

*****

Me, fall for Melissa Hofstadter? Preposterous. Sure, I found her sexy, but never did I dream of becoming emotionally involved with the girl. Yet that's exactly where I feel myself going. Last weekend was fabulous. I check my calendar to see when I'm free for lunch this week. Then I call Melissa's cell. No answer. She must be at her cashier station, checking out customers, I surmise. I'll try later.

Lunchtime finds me driving toward Atwater's to pick up food I called ahead for. They have delicious soups and sandwiches, and maybe that's where I'll take Melissa later this week. Before I get there, I can barely process the "breaking news" I hear on the radio. There's been a shooting at Target, the same Target where Melissa works. Pulling over, I call her cell once again. Still no answer. Risking a speeding violation, I take off for Target, anxious to the point of feeling sick—sweaty palms, churning stomach, the shakes. Twenty minutes later, I pull into the parking lot. The place is a mob scene, flooded with cops, news people and onlookers. Yellow crime tape surrounds the building. I jump from my car and get close enough to see a body, completely covered, being wheeled out on a gurney.

Target employees are easy to spot by their red tops. One of them, a young black woman, is crying. When she tells me what happened, I double over in pain and tears. There will be no lunch this week with Melissa, no more fabulous weekends, no Skyline Drive. The fact that Frank Gratz dropped the gun and waited to be arrested is little consolation for my grief.

Weeks later, flowers in hand, I stand at Melissa's grave-site. I miss her so much it hurts. It's a Saturday morning, warm and sunny, the sort of day that I envisioned for our trip through Skyline Drive. Perhaps today might have been that very day we had planned. What might have been...Since the shooting, I've tried to adopt her philosophy of making the best of what is rather than dwell on what could or might have been—with little success. "Sorry, Melissa," I whisper through my tears, "I'm not as strong as you. Rest in peace."