Third Time's The Bride!. Merline Lovelace

Hearing. Sensory perception. After chemo and radiation failed to halt the tumor’s pernicious growth, she opted for a last, desperate attempt to have it cut out.

      She and Brian both knew the odds were she wouldn’t survive the surgery. They’d said their goodbyes in the purple twilight punctuated with beeping monitors, then spent the night spooned against each other in her hospital bed. Both sets of parents had arrived early the next morning, bringing Tommy with them. The hours that followed were lost in a misty haze. Brian couldn’t remember the expression on the surgeon’s face when she broke the grim news. He retained only a vague memory of his father-in-law’s shattered sobs and his quietly efficient mother helping him through the business of death.

      With a knot in his throat, he realized that he could barely recall the sound of his wife’s laughter or the title of the tune she used to hum all the time. Another woman’s laugh now echoed through their house. Another woman’s voice was in his head. A vivacious, seductive woman who hadn’t tried to disguise her response to his kiss. Or her mocking smile when he’d damned near tripped over his own feet backing away.

      Calling himself ten kinds of an idiot, Brian went downstairs and found the coffee already made. The note propped against the pot informed him Dawn had come over early to borrow some artificial sweetener. It also announced that she had a ton of work to catch up on, so she’d hang at the gatehouse while he and Tommy enjoyed a day doing man things. She’d see them this evening. Brian could buzz when he and Tommy were ready to head to the Westbrooks’ for dinner.

      He crumpled the note with a combination of relief and irrational pique at the casual way she’d cut him and Tommy out of her day. Gathering the makings for French toast, he cracked eggs into a mixing bowl with something less than his usual dexterity. He added milk and a dash of cinnamon, then set the bowl aside.

      Topping off his coffee, he booted up his iPad to skim the financial news until muted thumps and a quick flush signaled his son’s return to the land of the living. He was arranging bread slices in a heavy iron skillet when Tommy rushed into the kitchen. He was still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in spikes and sleep crusting the corners of his eyes.

      “Back upstairs,” Brian directed. “Wash your face, brush your teeth, get dressed.”

      Ignoring the order, Tommy swept the kitchen with an eager glance. “Where’s Dawn?”

      “She’s working.”

      “I gotta tell her something.”

      “Not now, Tommy.”

      “It’s okay,” his son countered, darting for the door. “I’ll be quick.”

      “Not now.”

      “I just wanna...”

      “Thomas...”

      The warning growl stopped the boy in his tracks, but Brian didn’t kid himself. Long experience had taught him there would be more to come.

      Predictably, his son’s chin jutted and he threw his father a defiant look. “Dawn said I could come over anytime.”

      “And I’m saying she’s busy. Haul your behind upstairs, then we’ll have breakfast and decide what to do today.”

      “But...”

      “Now!”

      He stopped short of a roar but got his point across. Still mulish but wary, Tommy retreated.

      Brian had to battle the urge to call him back and smooth things over with a hug. Instead, he concentrated on whipping the eggs and milk into a froth. Pouring the mixture over the bread slices, he left them to soak and returned to his iPad to check the football schedule.

      He had the bacon sizzling and the French toast browning when Tommy reappeared. The earlier power struggle forgotten, he hopped up on a counter stool and wanted to know what they were going to do today.

      “How about we take in the Redskins’ home game?”

      “Really?”

      “Really.”

      EAS maintained a box at the stadium. When not used for entertaining clients, employees could vie for the seats via an in-house lottery system. All but one ticket was taken for today’s game, but Brian could pay an exorbitant premium to squeeze in an additional guest.

      “What about Dawn?” Tommy wanted to know. “Is she coming, too?”

      “She said she’d see us this evening when we go to dinner with Major and Mrs. Westbrook. It’s just us guys today. Kickoff’s at 10:00 a.m.,” he informed his excited son. “So eat fast, and we’ll hit the road.”

      * * *

      Dawn replied to Brian’s text advising that he and Tommy were going to the game with a smiley face and a cheerful “Have fun!” A short time later, she caught the rumble of the garage door going up, the SUV gunning to life and the door rolling down again.