DISCLAIMER:
The familiar characters within this fictional story belong to Shoot the Moon
and Warner Brothers Productions. I am not making a profit from this story.
AUTHOR: Kim
RATING: PG
SUMMARY:
[Third Season, after Wrong Way Home.] Lee remembers the night he seriously
reflected on his developing relationship with Amanda.
Author's
Notes: Thank you a thousand times to my regal friends for all your
encouragement and valuable suggestions with this piece. I am constantly and
humbly amazed at your insights and talent.
HOLDING
HER HAND
I remember
that it was a Saturday night and I was home alone. Amanda had been due back
from her vacation any time. Why, I wondered, would I think of Amanda at such a
moment? I went over to my desk and opened it up.
Pulling out
one of a set of four small books, I opened the first and thumbed through the
well-worn pages.
Darcy Freers.
. . Yvonne Friedman. . . Sandi Fielding. . . Lori Fiddler. . .
Nora Granger.
. .
Realizing that
not one of them appealed to me anymore, I closed Volume One and tossed it on
top of the other three. They looked out of place, as if they hadn't really ever
been mine at all.
I knew in that
moment, that those books belonged in my past, not my present, and certainly not
my future. It just took a great deal of self-scrutiny that night to realize the
fact.
Even though I
was alone, I cringed at the memory of confessing to Amanda that I had four
black books. I hadn't wanted her to know about them, but the disclosure was
necessary to the case we were working on. The look she gave me embarrassed me
to the core.
Closing the
desk with a sigh, I wondered when my lifestyle had begun to bore me. I wandered
over to the bar and poured myself a glass of wine.
My mind
drifted again to my partner and friend, Amanda King, and a mood I was unable to
clearly define swept over me. I have felt attraction to women before. What I
felt for Amanda, I realized was . . . somehow beyond, above and past
attraction.
Not to say
that I wasn't attracted to her as a woman. I had been physically attracted to
her for a long, long time. But I had been able to resist that, to channel it
into other outlets. This was much different, I realized.
Unable to help
myself, I thought about how I would find myself holding her hand at every opportunity.
Sometimes, I hadn't even noticed that I'd picked it up. It was almost like we
were drawn to one another, two parts of a whole, and subconsciously we would
establish that contact, becoming complete. It was the most natural feeling in
the world to have that physical connection with her.
I remembered
how, on another occasion, Amanda and I had been walking along hand in hand, and
I glanced down at our entwined fingers. The strangest sensation surged through
me, and I wanted to stop her, turn her towards me, and take her into my arms.
Before I could act on the impulse, however, I remembered whom I was with and
held back.
Why? Because
she was my partner, my friend, and *Amanda*. There was no other way to put it.
I believed that I shouldn't feel anything towards her but friendship and
respect. It had taken me long enough to even feel those things in relation to
her. I didn't know *how* to feel any other way towards her.
And yet, with
all these reservations and doubts, I would automatically reach for her hand,
time and again. Amanda seemed to take it in stride, reaching for my hand even
as I reached for hers. I knew her so well, and I suspected that her feelings
for me ran as deep as mine did for her. How deep? The answer was there, but I
was hesitant to find it.
With Amanda's
hand in mine, I always felt at ease. Her touch calmed me in a way I didn't
understand.
I had been
going through my black books, reading names and picturing faces. Had one of
those women ever roused such tender, fragile feelings in me, even for a moment?
I asked myself.
No.
The simple act
of holding my partner's hand was more pleasurable than doing anything with
anyone else. This realization scared and confused me. What did it mean?
I looked down
at my hand. My palm tingled with the recalled memory of how her soft skin felt
against mine. I literally ached to touch her in that moment.
I found myself
wondering, if holding her hand brought out such feelings, how would it feel to
hold her against me? What would happen if I just kissed her?
I dared not
imagine anything beyond a kiss, but the very thought had already imbedded
itself in my mind, and I began to anticipate the dreams my sleep would produce.
I couldn't
help but wonder why I missed her so badly when we were apart. I had no idea
when she had become so important to me - such a part of me.
I remembered
that she would be back home that evening from her camping trip. I guessed that
she had already probably unpacked and was at that moment doing laundry, putting
away camping gear.
I planned to
drive over to her house later that evening and see how she was doing. That was
another habit I'd picked up. Rather than call for a Friday or Saturday night
date, I stayed at home. I would count the hours until her mother and sons had
gone to bed so that I could knock on her back door.
I recalled one
time that I had wound up on her back doorstep. I had lifted my hand to tap on
the glass but stopped as I spied Amanda deep in conversation with her
ex-husband, Joe. Common sense and courtesy had told me to walk away, but I
found that my feet were filled with lead and I couldn't move.
I stood there
watching them; they seemed so at ease together. I had a feeling that Joe King
wanted to pick up where he left off with Amanda. Watching him, he seemed to
still be half in love with her, and I felt oddly threatened. Amanda was not
mine, yet in that moment, I felt strongly possessive of her.
I knew that
she was not mine, that I had no claim to her. I just felt that Joe King didn't
deserve her. He had failed to realize what he had, when he had it. I told
myself that she deserved better than him, fearing at the same time that she
also deserved better than me.
But even as I
rationalized this to myself, I knew that there was more to it, that it went
deeper. It didn't make any sense, and it drove me out of my mind to think about
it too much.
In fact, I
realized, I wasn't able to stand it when any other man showed interest in her,
and I would end up unfairly aggravated with her. As if she could control the
fact than men found her irresistible. *I* found her irresistible.
The question
was what was, I going to do about it?
The answer
was, I surmised after much thought, that I would keep holding her hand, and
keep hoping that some day, I would figure out why she affected me the way she
did. Then, I would know what to do about the way I felt.
***
I still love
to hold Amanda's hand, protectively lacing my fingers through hers. Resting my
palm against hers. Running my thumb over her fingers. The simple yet intimate
contact never fails to send currents of electricity coursing through my veins.
I'm watching
my wife now, marveling at how passionately I still react to her. I'm glad every
day that I didn't cheat myself out of her love. I took the chance. I risked my
heart and came out a winner.
She looks up
at me now, from her desk across the Q-Bureau. She smiles, having felt my eyes
adoring her. I love this woman more than anything, more than anyone, more than
life itself. She is my life, and it all started by holding her hand.
~End~
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