A Richter Blend, Cooperton's Story

StepfamilySystems.com

A Richter Blend, Stepfamily Chronicles.

On line publishing by StepfamilySystems.com

1101 California Ave., Ste. 100, Corona, CA 92881

Legal representation, Parker Stanbury, LLP (213) 995-0001

First Editor, R. D. Atkins

Second Editor, Tina Kitras

Freelance Writers:

Patricia H. Powe, Cooperton Family Story

Michelle Lamb, Grey Westcott Story

Tina Kitras, Macy Cooperton's cousin, Vera Normandy Story

R.D. Atkins, Delrose Hazelton, Cooperton's senior neighbor, grandparent perspective

Skye C. Weaver, Co-Writer, Youth/Teen Perspective

Mystery Writer: Men's perspective

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

A Richter Blend, Stepfamily Chronicles

The print trailer opened the bedroom curtains of the Cooperton home...

as their dreams of "always and forever" dissolve and they begin to face the uncertainties of divorce, single parenting and the road to restoration challenged by ... (Oh, sorry, I can't tell you yet!)

It is the morning after Macy has finally told Stephen she wants a divorce. He had sensed her unrest, but hearing her words made his heart push and his lungs tighten. The reality of her decision and how it will impact their emerald green-eyed children, Ameliana (10), Jackson (8), and their brown-eyed son Hayden (4) is no longer a play in her imagination. A Richter Blend, Stepfamily Chronicles aspires to bring characters face to face with what can be true of divorce and remarriage -- the good, bad and the ugly, and it will come along side readers who want support, to provide true-to-life tips and information provided by the Stepfamily Strategy Team of contributing professionals at the end of each episode! Simply click on the Stepfamily Strategy Team Contributors page to learn more about each contributor and how to contact them if you would like more information.

~ ~ ~

"What am I thinking?"

Macy Cooperton frantically searched through the depths of her walk-in closet. I know I put those shoes in here somewhere! She bumped her fragile arm into the corner of her husband's shoe rack in her hurry. The pain caused her to rapidly suck in air through her teeth and she muttered, "Ouch, What the heck?" And she quickly massaged the reddening skin with the fingers of her right hand.

"Mom! Mom!" yelled Macy's eight year old son, Jackson. "I can't find my shoe box. Can you tell me where it is?"

Impatiently, Jackson dropped the lid to his blue and white wood chest for his toys. Bang! The sound ricocheted from his upstairs bedroom at the other end of the long hallway.

"Not now, Jackson," responded Macy in irritation to her impatient son. "Not today! I have a test to take at the bank. I can’t find my new shoes. Can you tell me where they are?" She smiled for a moment.

Finally, after she had thrown stray articles of clothing on the floor, she pulled out her new, red stiletto shoes. Her heart pulsated nervous throbs throughout her small, Irish body. Wearing her new silk slip, Macy looked back over her shoulder and glanced at her unblemished bed and recalled the tears and tension of the night before. She and her husband, Stephen, had spent the better part of the night talking about their kids--- ten year old Amelia, four year old Hayden, and Jackson. They had discussed who would pick them up after school, how often would they have them. Oh, my God! We didn't talk about their sports. Will they have to quit because I made this decision? And I have to find the receipt for these shoes! Where did I put that receipt? Stephen will kill me. Macy's thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

"Maaaaaa! Um, I really, really need your help," shouted Jackson. "If I don't bring a shoe box today I can't bring the frogs home. It's my weekend."

"Look under your bed, Jackson," responded Macy. "Everything ends up there." She admired the new look of her soft, pale feet in high-heeled shoes. I have to find that receipt before Stephen does. Maybe my mom can pick the kids up. Macy quickly grabbed her bright red dress out of the closet and removed it from its dry cleaning bag. She gathered it into her hands and lifted it over her curly locks of thick red hair. It felt smooth when it rolled over her fair skinned shoulders, past her slim waist and size six hips. She remembered the first time Stephen kissed her shoulders.

Macy stepped toward her large mirror and discovered she liked the reflection that stared back at her this morning. She stepped forward and pivoted to the right and to the left, and blew her red bangs away from her emerald green and brown-flecked eyes. What am I thinking? I haven't pushed a pencil on paper in eighteen years. I don't know much about computers. As she somberly thought about the lunch date with Sterling James, the bank manager (who lived only six houses away), she noticed the shoe box to her red shoes had fallen between the chest of drawers and the wall. Oh, my gosh. That's it! .

"Jackson! Come here son," she called, "Mom has a box for you!" She emptied the box of its crinkled packaging paper.

Jackson appeared around her bedroom door leaping like a frog with his Spiderman backpack. "Rrrrrrrrrrrb-bit! Thanks, Mom," he burped out. "You're the best. Rrrrrrrrrrrb-bit and Slime (speaking of the frogs) would thank you too, if they could." He grabbed the box from his mother's hands and ran down the stairs to their black SUV.

~ ~ ~

Stephen pulled into his marked parking space in his 1999, white Ford Ranger. He looked to his left and raised his eyebrows as he glanced over at his boss's 2007, silver Bugatti Veyron. He felt silly parking in the secured lot of the parking garage with the rest of the mortgage brokers. He took in a deep breath and sighed. He had been at this job for three years already....where did the time go? In 1999 he had imagined things differently. By now, Stephen had expected to be driving a white Porsche Carrera GT instead of his high school boy's truck. Life had not unfolded as planned.

The sound of a car door closing snapped Stephen out of his thoughts. He held his jacket and briefcase with his right arm and hand as he reached for his keys and then stepped out of his truck.....they dropped to the ground! He picked them up with his left hand and closed the car door with his fingertips catching the jacket in the door. "Damn it!" he softly groaned to himself and retrieved the jacket.

Stephen pushed through the heavy double glass doors of YF Mortgage Corporation. He thought about his late night talk with Macy, wondering if the papers would arrive today. He walked through the reception area and across the marble floor to the elevators, unaware of his co-workers sizing him up for his disheveled appearance.

"Hey, Stephen!" one of them called. "Must have been some night with Macy. Look at you, dude! Same clothes as yesterday, man. Looks like you got a good one!" Smiling big, his co-workers turned toward one another nodding and stepping like peacocks with spread tail feathers and gave each other a celebratory high-five.

"If you only knew," he said with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. Stephen stepped into the elevator, sat down his briefcase, grabbed his tie and began to form a knot hoping for a more formal and less disheveled appearance.

~ ~ ~

Macy dropped Ameliana and Jackson off in the drive-through zone without a hitch. The Waves K - 8 Academy had volunteers. Everyone knew those who managed the loading zone in front of the school received a tuition benefit. Oh, geeze! That is going to be me. I have to be the one to get the job today. I do know Sterling.

Macy’s foot pressed the gas pedal. She resented Stephen because he had refused to take Hayden to school. Her teary-eyed son's hands had been pulled off her dress by a teacher while pleading to stay with her. She could not get the image of his sticky nose and wet cheeks out of her head. How will he make it through the day? He has never done this before. Stephen should have taken him; he would have taken him if he cared about anyone else. At least Ameliana and Jackson are in their classrooms across the street. As Macy drove into the parking lot of Port Hills Bank, she passed Sterling James' red Cadillac Escalade and glanced down at her form-fitting red dress ...

~ ~ ~

Macy's Arrival

Macy searched for a parking space in the back part of the lot, not in view of the foot traffic of those entering and exiting the Port Hills Bank. She stopped abruptly, shut off the engine and inhaled deeply. Her eyes scanning to the right and to the left, she grabbed the rearview mirror and adjusted it to where she could see the “Seasons Greetings” banner along the side of the building. “This is it Macy Solei Cooperton. Get your game on, girl! YOU need to land this job TODAY or it is the drop-off zone for you, too. Eeeew!”

A loud car horn stole Macy’s attention from her desperate mirror performance. An older woman wearing a veiled top hat from the ‘60s wanted her parking spot. Throwing up her arms, Macy turned, blowing her bangs away from the perspiration on her forehead and muttered without rolling down the window, “What do you want, crank pot? I just got here,” and she went back to her mirror pep-talk.

The horn sounded loudly once again. Irritated, Macy glanced over her shoulder, gesturing to the driver of the late 1980s Cadillac that she was not going anywhere, shaking her head and rushing her hand across her throat with a slicing motion. She took one more look at her appearance, pursed her lips, and then gave a cheeseburger smile to see if there was any evidence of the bagel she had crammed down while dropping the children off for school. The car honked once more then drove away.

Macy looked at the clock and realized five minutes had passed. She swallowed hard as she opened the door to a new beginning. Where is this path going to take me? She stepped out of her vehicle and directly into a pothole filled with rain water and some foreign liquid which splashed up her lean calf. It quickly ran down the glossy nylon of her pantyhose and flooded the inside of her shoe. “Are you kidding me? I just bought these shoes. Argh!” groaned Macy.

Quickly, Macy shut the door with a burst of frustration fueling her energetic push while doing a balancing act on the ball of her wet foot and trying not to allow her other foot to follow suit. She felt her freshly pressed dress get sucked into the motion of her closing door, she dropped her purse and over she went. As the door went west with her dress, she fell east, hitting a mirror and triggering the alarm of the car next to her. She pushed a deep groan out of her throat.

When Macy looked up, there stood Sterling James. His bulky, body-builder arms were folded across his wide chest, his dark-skinned face and brown eyes were highlighted by the white shirt and brilliant, blue tie he wore so well. Her heart began to race faster. Sterling stood calmly…he was impressive in his nicely pressed, cuffed suit-pants anchored by size 13 feet sporting Rockport ® Oxford shoes. With a tilt of his head and through a curious look, he revealed that Coalgate-white smile framed with dimples and a slightly cleft chin speckled with a hint of beard.

“Do you need some help there, Macy?”

“No. Well, yes. No, I can do this.” As Macy bent down to pick up her purse, the door held her dress high and Sterling’s grin somehow grew even wider. He caught a glimpse of her lean, tight ballerina shaped legs just as one foot began to slip out from under her. He jumped forward, grabbing Macy by her left arm just in time to keep her from hitting the ground.

“Oh, Ouch! Not there!” gasped Macy. Seeing that her bruise was new, Sterling asked her what happened but she did not answer.

“Macy, I asked you what happened. Tell me what happened to your arm,” Sterling demanded.

“Oh nothing, really, just an accident this morning.” She finally had her balance and they walked into Port Hills Bank trying to appear calm, but Macy started to giggle and Sterling caught on.

Once they reached the transaction windows, Sterling told the end teller to hit the button. A loud buzz sounded off and the door released its security lock from the inside. “Ladies first,” he said as he directed her with hand motions to go ahead of him and toward the back room.

They walked through an aisle of metal filing cabinets and tellers hustling with customers’ holiday demands for account balances, cash and American Express money orders. They rounded a corner where Sterling directed Macy to take a seat while he brought out the proctor. She sat down and began to smooth her look and relax. Soon afterward, Sterling returned with a silver-blue haired woman with a slight round to her shoulders -- and a veiled top hat. Macy felt her face fill with heat…

~ ~ ~

Stephen’s Silent Ache

Stephen felt the elevator slowing. He heard it pitch its stopping sound with two quick chimes. He had just completed the knot in his tie after tucking in his shirt and he cleared his tired throat a couple of times as a half-dozen people entered the elevator. He slightly turned his right shoulder in toward his chin, clearly feeling the need for protection at that moment. Making no direct eye contact, he hurriedly stepped out of the cracker box and headed toward his office. Caught in self-talk, he thought to himself, “Whew, glad I didn’t see anyone; I don’t feel like talking. This sucks.” He squinted and spoke out loud, “What does ‘suck ’mean anyway? Suck? Yes, this sucks! That sounds awful; this is awful.”

“It means you need an Excedrine, Mr. Cooperton for that wicked headache of yours. I don’t think I have heard you use that term before,” said his stout, Italian secretary, Joanne, who was on her way to the mail room. She had grown up in Massachusetts, was stubborn and had been his Loan Officer Assistant since his first day in 1999. She was quite the opposite of Macy in both personality and appearance. At 4’9” she wore the evidence of being a Master Italian chef; cooking competitions was her part-time passion. Her sturdy 150 pounds reinforced her ability to tell escrow officers and real estate agents the way things were without a soft-shoe dance or apology; they liked knowing the truth about the status of a purchase loan, but her straight-forwardness was not always well received.

Stephen would be the first to say that Joanne was the main reason he had moved his family up to Port Hills. She could handle a drunken Sailor, and everyone knew it. She knew how to handle the parties to the mortgage transactions Stephen originated. Joanne was usually cheerful and could often finish Stephen’s sentences for him. She was always on the job and would call Stephen’s cell phone anytime of day or night – something Macy disliked. As Stephen reached for the crafted, gold-tone doorknob, he heard, “Mr. Cooperton! Mr. Cooperton, Sir! You left your briefcase in the elevator.” He stopped and dropped his head as he let out a deep exhale.

Nodding his head with a positive up and down, Stephen made eye contact and said, “Thank you, Mr. Wetzel-Ott. I would have been lost without my briefcase today. I have not had a good 24 hours and I have a bit of a headache this morning. I am not thinking, nor remembering well, am I?” Stephen gave him a confirmation wink and attempted to take the briefcase from his pudgy hands.

Before releasing it, Eddie sparkled a chipped-tooth smile and slowly said, “That’s okay, Mr. Cooperton. I don’t think so good either when I have a headache. I get lost going to the bus sometimes; did you know what, Mr. Cooperton? My Grandma Jean says that is just the way life is. Sometimes we lose our way but as long as we know how to get along with people, we will always have success. I have had a lot of success, Mr. Cooperton. Someone always helps me find the bus.” Eddie released his grip and wrapped his free arm around Stephen, still bearing an ear-to-ear smile which had closed his almond-shaped eyes.

When Stephen had turned toward the voice calling his name, he could not help but feel his lips curl upward. It was Eddie Wetzel-Ott, the developmentally challenged, 51-year-old cafeteria worker who had not missed a day of work since he had the flu several years ago. He proudly wore his white, oblong paper hat, grey slacks and white, short-sleeved shirt daily and proudly wore the name tag which was always good for hand to mouth chuckle.

Eddie was known to look at his reflection in one of the city-view windows where he fixed his grey bow-tie at the top of every hour, no matter what. He thrived on his routine. No one had ever seen Eddie without his hat which gave way to many lunchtime conversations about what the top of his head might look like. Balding? Comb over? Hat hair? He had a thin layer of fine, but stiff and straw-like, red-toned hair that hinted he was of Irish decent laying straight down on his forehead. Eddie was also good for a sweet laugh when you needed one. It did not matter that he was asked several times a week why he wanted to change his name. The slowly spoken answer was always the same, but unexpected to those who did not know him, with its ‘l’s and ‘k’s hard to detect, “My mom’s name is Wetzel and my dad’s name is Ott. I don’t like having the same name as my Grandpa Eddie. He does not like me. I want to be called Stephen. Stephen likes me.”

~ ~ ~

If words and facial expressions could kill, Macy would have been dead when Stephen had divorce papers slapped in his hands the first time. Dedicated and loyal, Joanne was on the phone with a father’s rights legal team before he had a chance to finish reading the petition he held five years ago. The stomach-churning memories began to play in his mind like a pop-up arcade game which left him to navigate the pathway from his office to the private parking level on auto-pilot. Stephen, searching for his keys as he stood next to his truck in the dimly lit parking garage, felt an unseen, cold blanket of fear fall over him and he began to shake as though he stood barefoot in new snow. Taking in the neighboring cars once more, his vision began to blur. Just get in the damn truck and go home. Get served in solitude. He sighed as he tossed his briefcase inside the cab of his truck and headed for home.

The drive was longer than usual because the Port Hills utility trucks had coned off many lanes in their efforts to remove the remaining holiday trimmings from street lights. He drove through the Starbuck’s to-go lane, and ordered his usual tall, bold coffee of the day - black, no cream or sugar. While paying for his beverage, he added a newspaper to the order and drove to the park with his goods which would delay walking through his front door. He hoped to see Hayden playing outside during his lunch period at his new “big-boy” school. He had a curious and strong urge to go hold Hayden, but finally headed for home. Turning onto his street, he swallowed an urge to heave his beverage as he passed Sterling’s house and stopped just shy of his own driveway in front of Delrose Hazelwood’s home.

~ ~ ~

Delrose and been sipping her much too sweet coffee when she heard a knock on her front door. Shuffling her way to the door in her worn out house shoes, and comfortable cotton dress, she opened the door. To her surprise, there stood Stephen Cooperton.

"Stephen, what a surprise. Come in my boy."

“Oh, wow. You are home. I didn’t see your pick-up truck. You don't mind that I have stopped by, do you, Delrose? His eyes were puffy and his clothes clearly not fresh, as he stood with his hands wiggling the change nervously in his pockets.

"Honey, I am always home at this hour. You are always welcome here. You should know that by now. We have been neighbors long enough."

Clearing his throat, and searching for what to say next, he smiled and stepped inside, spying the photographs that were hanging without uniformity. Delrose was proud of her family's heritage.

"I was having some coffee at my kitchen table. Come on in and let's share a pot or two. You look like you could use it," said Delrose as she lead him into her kitchen.

“Your kitchen feels like home, 'rose. I didn’t know where else to go. You are right. I could drink this pot and a few shots of tequila right now. Delrose, I know you love Macy, too. But, I ... (Stephen drops his head and squeezes his hands into fists.)

"Yes, son, I do care about all of you, but, right now, consider me your friend," said Delrose. "Talk to me, Stephen, before you burst."

"I do not know where to begin, ‘rose," he said. In his anxiety and frustration he stood up quickly, sending the metal legged chair across the old wood floor. He paced around the kitchen for a few minutes and settled down while Delrose calmly sipped her beverage.

"Sorry, Delrose. I am in a bundle of knots right now and so irritated. I didn’t mean to do that.” He appeared distressed, “My career went down the tube with the decline of real estate values. I lost several Realtors for whom I had been their exclusive lender. That was like cutting off my legs. Coupled with the mortgage crisis, my income has gone to hell in a hand basket. The stress between me and Macy has been at its worst ever – worse even than five years ago. You remember, I’m sure; the entire town remembers.”

Delrose kept her warm and caring eyes on Stephen. After a couple minutes of nothing but the hum of her refrigerator, he looked away and sniffled. After fighting his pain, he continued, “She doesn’t deal with pressure very well. Five years ago things were going great but I was gone a lot; I get that. Business was going gang-busters and I had to seize the opportunity for a time such as this. I changed my hours as soon as I learned how she felt and realized something was up. We were doing well until 2008. It has been two years of earning less than we spend. I think, no - I know she is seeing Sterling again. I saw the cell phone bill and his number was all over it. I really wish he was gone. I should have… well, I really wish he would...” With his elbows on the handcrafted placemat, Stephen gripped his hair in the palms of his hands and pulled hard. He was back on his feet, pacing again.

Delrose wiggled her middle aged spread into a more comfortable position in her chair. It gave her a few moments to think. "Stephen, wishing won't change reality. It only compounds the wounds. But, talking helps. Where do you and Macy go from here. Have you talked to her about this?"

Clearing his throat, Stephen looked at his neighbor and said, “Yes, we have talked. Many times, many nights, including last night. We went out for dinner for the first time in about two months. Her cousin is coming in to pick up her daughter who’s visiting and I guess I thought everything was okay. No, no I didn't. GEEEZE! She tried telling me the calls were because she is looking for a job but I suspected she was seeing him when she started up with the late night routine, just like it happened five years ago. She said she was teaching classes at the dance studio. I just want to kill the guy, 'rose!

"Kill him in your imagination. It saves you from having to look out through prison bars!" answered Delrose with a smile. "Are you saying, Stephen, that this is the end of your marriage? Your choice or hers?"

Stephen inhaled deeply and let out a cleansing breath. Having returned to the table, he grabbed a cup of hot beverage and sat down again. Facing Delrose was a sobering moment. Getting the fear off his chest and the suspicions expressed, he said, "It was Macy's choice. Just like last time, ‘rose. She told me at dinner that she has been thinking a lot about where we are at this stage of our lives. She brought up her friends from the snack bar. They drive the best of cars, dress well and wear rocks on their fingers while running the snack bar for cryin’ out loud! I am surprised they know how to flip a burger. She basically said I don't provide well enough and she wants more.”

Delrose listened with her heart. She cared for both Stephen and Macy. But, Macy could be too self-centered and foolish; still, she cared for them both. "I'm listening, Stephen," said Delrose softly.

Sipping his beverage, Stephen sat his cup down and gave it a spin on the saucer. Clearly he did not realize what fine china he was toying with, but Delrose bit her lip. Stephen went on, "See the tea cup spinning, 'rose? This is how it's been for five years because I don’t know if Hayden is mine or the neighbor's boy. I have offered to go to couples counseling, but she always declines. She said she doesn’t want couple’s therapy, she wants more from our marriage. Really, what she is saying is that she is not satisfied with my income. For some reason, my income is tied to how much she loves or doesn't love me! This sucks. Oh, sorry for my choice of words. I have worked so hard. She doesn't get it. Escrows fall out, people change their minds, things come up out of my control, like losing my top producing real estate agents last year."

"Son, I don't think money is her problem. It's just an excuse, a need born from an unresolved issue that perhaps she can’t even identify," responded Delrose. "But, let me ask you this. How important is it for you to know if Hayden is your son? You’re his father under any circumstance. You have raised and loved him. And, Stephen, he loves you."

Stephen capped the cup with his hand, and grabbed a napkin out of a handmade wooden holder to soak up the coffee that had sloshed out of the cup and off the saucer. After a minute or so of silence, he looked at Delrose with an intense look of sorrow. He closed his eyes, resituated his position in the chair and tried to explain further the complex feelings of his heart.

"Look Delrose, I don't think you understand what it has taken out of me for the past five years with Macy's pregnancy and Hayden's entire life. Oh my gosh, I love that little boy and you are right; he loves me. But every day I have wondered if Sterling is going to show up and say he wants a blood test and to take responsibility for his son. Hayden does look different from Ameliana and Jackson.”

Delrose looked intensely into Stephen's eyes and said, "Son, only you can know what you can live with. If this is of such deep concern to you, get a blood test and resolve this in your mind once and for all. Only then can you know if you have a potential problem in the future. Take all of this a step at a time. Resolve what you must for whatever is presented for any particular day. It's time to stop tormenting yourself with unknowns - get an answer. Then you will have a better idea of where to go from there."

Delrose closed her brown eyes for a moment and brushed her graying hair from her cheek. "I know this is not easy," she continued. "The breakup of a marriage is never simple, and always so painful. All I can say to you, Stephen, is that time is not your enemy, but your friend for it will eventually bring healing and the peace you so desperately need. I know that right now it doesn't feel like it. Let your children be your motivation to keep strong and to keep moving forward with whatever you must overcome and resolve. I promise you, Stephen, that time will be eventually the salvation of your heart and circumstances....especially when faith brings the knowledge that you are not alone."

"I do not know what you mean about an unresolved issue with Macy, Rose. I am always trying to make her happy. What issues is there other than our income? Really, there are not any. I had no clue when I met Macy that she was this shallow or immature. She was young, but attentive," Stephen smiled.

He continued, "I remember I spent the night at her parents before we got married, and before I was up the next morning, she was in the kitchen making breakfast for everyone. Now, she complains she has no time and feels like everyone's maid. It doesn't help that when she was in therapy five years ago, that the therapist told her if she was not happy, no one would be happy. She took that to mean she had to come before the kids and me, I guess.” Stephen stood up again and walked over to the garden window.

“I feel like a failure because when I get home, she is out the door,” he said. “We have no time together. Zero. You talk about time. How about this Harvey MacKay quote for you, 'Time is free, but it's priceless. You can't own it, but you can use it. You can't keep it, but you can spend it. Once you've lost it, you can never get it back.' Have I lost her Delrose? I feel like its over. She told me she has filed for the divorce already. I could not stay at work and get served divorced papers there. So I came home. But, not before driving past the bank where she is trying to get a damn job, working with Sterling.”

Delrose listened to the words pour out of Stephen. She knew more than anything else, he just needed to release pent up emotions too long held within. She gave Stephen a loving smile. She said, "Stephen, I don't know what is in Macy's mind, but, if she has chosen to end this marriage all you can do is begin to accept it. I am so sorry that you and the children must go through this. I wish I had a magic pill for you to make it easier. But, please know that I am here for you anytime you just need someone to listen."

She lowered her head for a moment, then raising it slowly she continued. "You and Macy are both my friends. I want you to know that if Macy wants to talk with me too, I am more than willing to listen. But, know this. I will not share the information that either one of you share with me … so don't ask," she said with a gentle laugh.

After polishing off the cup of coffee, Stephen felt better and his shaking had subsided because Delrose seemed to understand what he was feeling. At least she didn’t give him "loser" looks like Macy's best friend, Cathy. He stood up, being careful not to push the chair backward as harshly as when he had first arrived and bent over to give Delrose a kiss on her bruised cheek. He asked her, "Delrose, how did you get that nasty bruise? Have you and the garden been fighting again," he smiled as he winked.

"Listen,” Stephen said, “I will keep the kids in mind. How can I not think about what this will do to them. Jackson doesn't remember, but I think Ameliana has some confusing memories about what happened last time; she is ten now – almost 11. I will find out how I can get that paternity test done. No. No I won't. Oh, yes I will... (The silence was loud, but the tic-tock of the grandfather clock competed for Delrose's and Stephen's attention.)

Stephen stopped picking the cuticles of his thumbs and said, "I don't know what I will do if Hayden is not mine. I need to know, don't I? Now is the time; I have to stop the insanity. Do you know how I can get the test done?"

"Talk to a lawyer, Stephen, and take his advice," answered Delrose firmly. "And as for my garden, I planted a peach tree. It wouldn't keep still so I pushed it perhaps too hard into the ground. It got even. The wind came up and one of its branches slugged me. I swear I heard it laugh! Peachie story, huh?" She laughed at her own corny joke.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, Stephen gave her a hug and walked toward the door. Again he glanced at the years of marriage displayed by the photos in her entryway. He shook his head and looked over his shoulder to Delrose and asked, "'rose, you don't think if Macy tells you something you think I should know that you could tell me, do you? I mean, if it will help me save my marriage..."

"Son, go home and begin to deal with this. I don't know what tomorrow will bring you and right now neither do you," said Delrose. "Concentrate on the children. Helping them to get through this with all the love and comfort you can give will not only help them, but it will help you too."

"Well, with that answer, I don't think you will be telling me anything, but that also means you will not be telling her what I share with you. I appreciate your friendship. I might have to move in, Delrose. What do you think about that? You do call me ‘son’!"

"I always wanted a son," she laughed with a hearty bounce of her oversized belly. "You know you are always welcomed and those babies too! Take care of yourself, and I repeat, with faith, you are not alone."

With a plan in tow, Stephen rounded the walkway and faced the sun as he walked up the street to his own home thinking about searching the Internet for paternity test options. As he pulled his keys out of his pocket, he realized he left the car parked in front of Delrose’s house. He had missed two calls that featured the designated ring-tone for Macy's calls. It was the song Have I Told You Lately by Rod Stewart. His cell phone rested on the seat of his car…

~ ~ ~

[We hope you are enjoying the series! Please visit our other stories when you have time. We have different authors writing each family's journey. Please visit our Stepfamily Strategy Team page for tips and insights you might be able to implement in your own situation.].