At church service on Sunday, Preacher Sigley gave a brimstone sermon on the sanctity of marriage. His eyes kept sweeping the crowd as he spoke, eventually locking on mine. I was under the impression that he had written this particular speech to sway my behavior regarding Sharp.

Patrick was in attendance, although he was sitting on the opposite side of the church. He was wearing the brown suit he sported the day we had married. On occasion I caught him staring in my direction. When I would dart my eyes to meet with his, he would gaze away.

After services, Patrick and I met with Preacher Sigley in the neutral territory of his church office. For all the progress that we had managed in the prior meetings, it seemed we were now wedged further apart.

In fact, Sig could not cajole either one of us to share a kind word about anything regarding our relationship. Sig cut the meeting short since it was obvious that it was a wasted effort.

As we headed to the door, Sig hurried ahead and placed his back to the flat surface preventing our exit.

"Just answer me this, why are you here?"

I bit my lower lip hinting at my refusal to cooperate.

"Patrick?" Sig asked.

"I want to save my marriage with Jessie."

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" Patrick grumbled.

"It's a simple question, it's an honest question."

"She's my wife."

"What does having a wife mean to you?"

Patrick rolled his eyes in a show of belligerence. "I don't know anymore." He snapped with annoyance. I knew the telltale signs that Patrick was loosing control of his temper. He bit his lower lip and his brows leveled above his eyes. Preacher Sigley must have sensed it as well, he allowed Patrick a quick escape but as for me, I remained in his snare.

"I realize you are going through a difficult time Jess." Sig began.

"It's not going to do you any good to work through the things you need to only to go home to find Patrick has left you. I want you to think about that the next time Sharp pulls up in that fancy car of his."

I eyed the preacher with disdain.

"Furthermore, Patrick may be rough around the edges but one thing is certain, he loves you."

"Did I ever say that he didn't?" I responded.

Sig gazed at me with surprise.

"The truth is, after everything, I'm not sure I want to return to him."

"Go on." Sigley mumbled surprised that I had managed an opinion, I think he sensed it had to do with progress from the sessions with Dr. Klein.

"No, just that. Now if you don't mind, I would prefer to be out and riding my bike rather than stuck in here rehashing something that is obviously over."

"Didn't you hear a word I said during the sermon today?"

"I heard, but I'm not listening."

Preacher Sigley sighed in frustration as I hurried through the doorway. Just outside the building Patrick stood, pacing with fury. My stomach turned realizing he could very well loose control and make an ugly scene.

"Should we be talking right now?" I asked in as calm of a voice that I could muster.

Patrick nodded, the angry vein now exposed on the surface of his forehead.

"I'm thinking we are by far better off separate." Patrick spat.

I nodded in agreement.

"I've tried to stick around for you, to stick around at least until you've figured things out a bit..... I can't do it though. I feel dangerously close to loosing it completely. Horrible thoughts keep surfacing Jess. I have this evil in me, this monster that won't be satisfied unless I cause you to breathe your final breath."

I knew better than to say anything to him at this moment. He was being honest, honest about his violent intent.

"I've been offered a job. A job reconstructing homes damaged in the hurricane down in Florida. If I'm going to do this, I need to leave soon. I really feel its the best thing to do, to put as much distance between us."

"Maybe you're right."

"Christ, Jessie. I'm standing here hoping that you can look at me and tell me all is forgiven, that you don't hold me responsible, but you can't do that because I am. I turned out to be just like your old man, now didn't I?"

"You were who I wanted you to be." I said, as Patrick eyed me with surprise.

"That's really sick, you know it?" He snapped.

"I know. I'm trying to sort through everything and none of it is simple."

"You can have the house and everything we've earned together. Just promise me this, you won't go running back into Sharp's arms after I'm gone. I can't stomach that notion."

"I understand how you've resented him all along."

"You never let go, did you?" Patrick said his anger seeming to dissipate.

"I suppose there was too much history between us." I responded thinking about how long I had been involved with Clarence Sharp.

"I guess when you share something like a kid, that can't be helped." Patrick said, his eyes suddenly widening, realizing the ramifications of his statement.

I gazed at him feeling stung, my heart suddenly palpitating out of control.

"I'm sorry." Patrick said rushing to my side. "I really didn't mean..." "Oh Christ!" He said as I slithered unconscious. "PREACHER!" Patrick called. A white veil enveloped me as miraculous peace overtook my soul.

___________________

"Mommy!" Clara said as I shuffled through the spray of fog.

"Oh my God!" I said overjoyed.

I ran to my baby and threw my arms about her in a desperate embrace.

"Clara, oh my Clara! I'm so sorry I forgot. How could I? How could I erase you from existence?"

"I'm not mad mommy. We were playing hide and go seek is all. You were hiding there and I've been looking for you here."

"Now that we're together, don't ever let me go okay?" Clara said her voice clear, but childlike.

"I won't! I love you my sweet baby." I said between sobs.

"How is daddy taking all of this?" Clara asked.

"Sharp has been around and I suppose he's been grieving."

"Tell him not to be too sad. I'm always with you as long as you can remember me. Can you do that?"

"Yes Clara, I believe I can."

"You need to get away from Patrick mommy. It's not right the way you both act together. It's not all his fault either."

"I know my sweet child! I'm letting him go." I said, as Clara began to evaporate from my embrace.

"Clara?"

"I need to return to the playground for now." Her voice squealed reverberating all around me.

"No, please don't leave me here!"

"Can you hear all of the other kids calling me?" Her voice was now falling away, muffled.

"Clara?" I screamed.

"There's a water slide. You know how I enjoy going to the water park."
"Sharp would take you twice a summer." I said remembering.

I could hear a splash of water and Clara was gone.

_______________

Dr. Klein was hovering over me, concern lining her brow. "Are you okay?" She asked.

I was in bed in my temporary room at the Sigleys. Most of the statues were still covered in socks, most of them, with the exception of the statue with eyes resembling Clara's.

I released in a sudden burst, a primal gut wrenching wail. "OH!" I moaned beginning to realize the enormity of grief. "OH." I said again, my heart overwrought with the awareness that my child of five years was forever gone.

Sharp hurried through the doorway, a sadness about his eyes that I had not understood until that moment. Dr. Klein stood back as Sharp pulled me into his embrace.

He slid into bed with me, his weight nearly uncomfortable, but necessary. I needed to feel him there. I needed that part of who Clara was to be near me in that moment.

"I'm so sorry." Sharp mumbled.

I cried until tears refused to fall. Someone pulled the rug out from under me and my entire world would never be the same again.

"The fire." I said. "Did she die in the fire?" Dr. Klein was still in the room and she hurried to my side.

"Don't worry about how it happened right now, just deal with the knowing."

Sharp kissed my cheek and began to stroke my hair.

"Clara was such an easy girl to raise." I said. "She would do everything I asked of her....she was so happy most of the time. I took comfort in those ridiculous songs that she would come up with. I believed her to someday be a famous composer. Now she'll never have the chance. Oh my God, this isn't fair!"
Minutes fell into hours and night finally overtook the day. Dr. Klein was called away on another emergency and Sharp promised the doctor he'd stay with me.

It was sometime later that the Sigley's announced Patrick was there and needed to see me. I had never seen Clarence Sharp become angry before, but he made it perfectly clear that Patrick was the last person that I needed to have around. It was soon after Sharp made a stand to the Sigley's that Patrick's truck could be heard peeling away.

With the knowledge of Clara's death brought forth questions. I was beginning to remember, but only in distorted fragments. When I met with Dr. Klein the following day, she recommended I deal with one thing at a time and to fight off the urge to recall the events as they happened. I agreed not to bring it all back too quickly and to do it under control of our sessions.

Sharp and I took a drive to the cemetery that afternoon. There was a color photograph of Clara mounted in an oval on the headstone. The words 'beloved daughter' were embossed in the granite stone in the shape of a heart.

Sharp and I sat on the patch of grass above her. Neither of us said much. I studied the photograph, her eyes resembling the remarkable blue of her father's. She sported an impish grin revealing a mischief of a soul, and just realizing how blessed I was to have her for five years made the weight seem less.

Sharp took me to dinner and we discussed the possibility of me moving back in with him. I understood that I needed to be around people right now. To shut myself off from everyone would not be healthy. I weighed my options and agreed that it was probably for the best.

After dinner, I convinced Sharp to drive me home. At first Sharp was reluctant, but as usual he caved into my request. After turning away from the small town of Spencer, we headed down several county roads that twisted and turned. By this time, night was upon us. The weather was unseasonably warm and riding with the windows open was necessary.

Sharp kept the stereo off which was difficult for him because of his love for music. When we turned the corner onto the road where I had spent the past few years, I felt an overwhelm of emotions.

"Are you sure this is such a good idea?" Sharp asked me.

"I need to do this." I responded.

Sharp hesitated before turning between the two boulders marking the hidden driveway. He took it slow and the only source of illumination was from the headlights. It was obvious that Patrick was no longer around, that he had immediately moved on with his life, moved on to rebuild Florida.

The yellow from Clara's slide reflected in the distance. The moment Sharp stopped, I darted from the car. I could sense her laughter everywhere. I rushed to the swing set watching the blue seat sway in the breeze.

"Push me mommy!" She had called many times during her life. For the most part I gave her my time, but now I regretted the moments when hanging laundry, planting bulbs, or raking leaves seemed more important.

Sharp approached from behind and placed his hand upon my shoulder.

"I wasn't a very good mother to her." I said feeling regret.

"You did the best that you could." Sharp managed, cushioning the fact that I had taken her from a stable environment and into the pits to live with Patrick.

"I should have never left you." I whispered.

"I should have never allowed you to go." Sharp responded.

"There was no way to stop me from running off like I did." I said.

"I could have fought you legally. Made custody an issue. I didn't though, I always wanted to give you everything you ever wanted. So, in a sense this is my fault too."
"Oh Sharp." I said twisting around and brushing my lips to his.

"Is it possible to love someone too much?" Sharp asked.

I shook my head, not verbalizing my answer to his question.

I grasped his hand as we began to stroll along the back stretch of the house.

"It all looks the same. It's almost as if the fire never happened."

"Patrick managed a miracle. If I hadn't seen the photographs spread in the newspaper, I would never guess that just months ago, this house was nearly destroyed."

At the path leading away from the house, I stopped dead in my tracks. From Patrick's workshop, a light became visible through the tree limbs blowing about.

Sharp followed my gaze and we paused frozen.

Patrick suddenly appeared on the path behind. His voice harsh, reaching forward and grasping at my throat.

In a flicker, Sharp disappeared from the equation. It became just Patrick and me, just Patrick, me and Clara who was inside the house fast asleep.

Patrick had tripped among the spread of toys that Clara had strewn along the path to his workshop. He was furious and determined to force the girl awake to pick up the mess she had overlooked earlier.

"Let me get that lazy child out here!" He screamed.

"Oh let her sleep." I said disregarding his anger.

"You baby her too much Jessie. You're raising her to be just like you." He said finally addressing the issue of my sloppiness.

"So? Is that such a bad thing? You married me right?"

"Don't get smart with me Jess." He said hurrying towards the house.

Even in the dimness of light I could sense that Patrick was about to become violent. As he stepped past me I realized I was no longer the person trapped within his path, it was Clara that would soon suffer. Clara with the innocent spirit that up until that moment remained unharmed.

"NO!" I screamed as I sprinted ahead. I stood as a barrier between Patrick and the back door, blocking his entry.

"Get out of my way!" Patrick said shoving me into the lounge chairs on the patio.

I stood immediately taking hold of his wavy hair and pulling with all of my strength. He fell back, surprised that I was fighting him off.

Since I was behind him, it was difficult for him to shake me away. I held firm tugging and imposing pain on the man.

"You're hurting me!" He shouted. Like a wild woman, I became vicious. I transferred my father's image to Patrick. Although Patrick had been abusive to me, he was never as brutal as my own father had been.

Years of torture bubbled to the surface. I was not going to allow my father to hurt anyone ever again, especially the extension of me, the fragile child whose name was Clara Sharp.

"You are not going anywhere near that child!" I screamed out of control.

I pulled the broom from the corner and began smacking my father across the face. I was relentless in the attack. Not only was he being pelted by the force of the stick, the wiry bristles were scratching lines along his cheeks.

My father staggered back, shielding his face with his arms. I continued my attack forcing him to retreat down the path and into the workshop.

Something within me snapped. I was now standing guard, never wavering from my intention to save Clara and in a sense, save myself in the process.