The difference was I was living the life of someone well off, while they were still going through the motions. I was deliriously happy with my relationship, and couldn't see it becoming less so in the future, while they seemed to be marking time. Luck has been with me, allowing me to progress with Mooney and be trusted with the responsibility they've given me. Well darn, my arm was going to start hurting from trying to pat myself on the back so much.Tuesday was our first day of flying to the offices. Fred was used to commuter flights, but this would really cut down on the time waiting to board and all the other slowdowns associated with commercial flights.The girls, Donte, Michi, and I took off for the gym a little earlier so that we would have more time to work out. I knew that Jules' running and Nautilus time would be good for her in the early stages of pregnancy and that she would soon need some instruction. I ordered breakfast to be delivered to the room for all of us this. I thought of my mother and her illness. It distracted me from the heat. For weeks she had been in decline. First the loss of Papa, then my Charles, and now, Mama dangerously balanced between worlds. Could I accept more grief if the Lord sent it? I looked up, sensing someone in the kitchen doorway. It was the soldier who had been guarding the stairs. He smirked at me. "Do you need assistance?" I asked. "I need something," he said insinuatingly. His eyes were bold and even though I was stiflingly covered, I felt naked. He stepped all the way into the kitchen. I faced him, intuitively not wanting to show him my back. The knife was still in my hand; I hid it behind me. He stepped closer and touched my mourning broach. It was pinned over my heart; a tintype of my Charles framed with a braid of his hair. The soldier's fingers brushed my breast. Even with the heat, I shivered. "This is who you wear black for?" he asked. "This old, dried man?" "You won't speak so of my husband," I snapped..
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