Changes
By T.L. Odell

Seacouver, 2008

Duncan MacLeod pulled himself away from Tessa. The bed creaked. He heard her regular breathing, saw her hair glowing in the reflected moonlight. She looked at peace. He also was fairly certain she was feigning sleep. Their lovemaking had been perfunctory; she hadn't been satisfied, but she obviously didn't want anything more from him--again.

Considering the way they'd acted right after the wedding, he guessed he understood. But it wasn't like Tessa to hide from him. He sighed and drifted into a troubled sleep.

Tessa Noel MacLeod was still asleep when Duncan awoke the next morning. Slipping quietly out of bed, he headed for the kitchen to make her breakfast. He mixed the ingredients for the apple pancakes she loved, and as he pulled the whistling kettle off the stove to make the coffee, he sensed her entering the kitchen. She stood by the table in her robe, her blonde hair unruly from sleep.

"Good morning, Tess. Did you sleep all right?" he asked as he poured the water over the freshly ground coffee.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing ... I just thought that since it's Sunday, and you've been getting up early every day to work on your new sculpture, and you were still asleep at eight-thirty ... " he broke it off. "Anyway, I thought I'd make you some breakfast. Apple pancakes."

"Oh, so you don't think I'm capable of making breakfast?" Tessa squeezed behind Duncan and pushed the plunger on the French press.

"Of course you are, I just thought I'd surprise you." He strove to keep his voice calm and level, and didn't mention the fact that she'd barely given the coffee any time at all to brew. This was not the first time Tessa had reacted in a totally new and unexpected fashion to a seemingly commonplace household event. He avoided looking at her; he'd already learned that could set her off when one of her moods struck. But he did hear her deep intake of breath.

"I'm sorry. I guess it's the stress from getting this commission finished on schedule. I haven't done a sculpture like this in such a long time, and I really want it to be perfect. I would love some apple pancakes." She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table.

Duncan turned back to his pancakes and began ladling batter onto the griddle, watching as they bubbled up. The sweet smell of apples filled the kitchen.

"You didn't sneak any of your Scottish oatmeal into those, did you?"

He heard the lightness as she spoke this time. "Not a single oat. I swear it."

"Tessa, I have to go out of town soon," he said, setting the platter of pancakes onto the table. "There's a series of estate sales in the Charlotte area. Would you like to come along?"

"When? I'm still pretty tied up with this sculpture, you know." The lightness in her voice had shifted to guarded neutrality.

"I'll probably leave Wednesday, be back by the following Tuesday. We could extend the trip if you wanted to do some sightseeing."

"Not a good time. Thanks, but I'll pass. I won't be far enough along on Wednesday to be able to leave."

"Are you sure? I'd love to have your company," Duncan said.

Her eyes darkened. "Are you sure you just don't want me home all by myself? You don't think I can manage? I might burn myself on the blowtorch, or cut myself with a chisel, and I won't heal the way you do?"

"Tess, no. Of course not. I know you're totally competent. I just thought-never mind." Duncan stopped talking. He could see no way out of this; Tessa had gone back into what he could only hope was her "stressed out temperamental artist mode" and no matter what he said now would just make things worse. "More syrup?" he said with as much boyish charm as he could muster. She didn't seem to hear him.

"Maybe I'll call Cecile," said Tessa. "She feels terrible about having missed the wedding and wants to get together. I've only seen her a couple of times since she came after the shooting." Her hands automatically fingered the scars on her chest. "And it's probably best that you're not around. She's known you as long as I have; she's bound to wonder why you still look so good."

Duncan tried to ignore the hint of bitterness, or maybe it was sadness. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. You two always have a great time."

"Thanks for the breakfast. I have to call Cecile and then get back to work." She left the table, her pancakes half-finished.

Duncan shook his head, finished his breakfast, then picked up the dirty dishes and went back into the kitchen. At least they had avoided a full blown confrontation over nothing. Once she reached the point in her work when everything came together, she would be her old self again. He hoped. In the meanwhile, he'd bite his tongue and try to stay out of her way as much as possible.

***
Early Wednesday morning.

Tessa padded barefoot back and forth across the dark apartment in her silk nightgown. Another night of interrupted sleep. And another argument with Duncan. What had she snapped at him about this time? Something trivial, something that had never bothered her before, that much she knew. She remembered the words "temperamental artist" and "stubborn Scot" being used a lot. She walked until the knots in her stomach loosened, and the twitching feeling in her limbs stopped enough so she could sit down and relax on the couch. A shadow moving caught her attention. She looked up to see Duncan watching her.

"What are you doing out of bed at two a.m.? Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine. I couldn't sleep and thought I'd move around for a bit. I didn't want my tossing and turning to wake you."

Please, just go back to bed and leave me alone for a few minutes, she thought.

"I can think of a way to help you get back to sleep," replied the tall Scot, his half grin made even more impish by his sleep-tousled hair.

"I'm sure you can, Mac, but I'm not ready to come to bed just yet. Please go on back; I'll be there in a little while."

"Suit yourself," he said, hesitating only a brief moment before turning back to the bedroom.

Tessa couldn't be sure if he sounded disappointed or hurt. She loved Duncan unconditionally. On her fiftieth birthday just a little over a month ago, he had proposed. They had been married the next day, and they had behaved like newlyweds even though they had been together for almost thirty years. Now, she felt that she had lost her grip on being in her fifties and married to a man who didn't look a day over thirty-five. No matter that he was almost four hundred years her senior, as a couple, she had become the "older woman."

The sleeplessness didn't help. She woke up hot. Her brain went into overdrive. By the time she cooled off, she had a million things running around in her head, keeping sleep at bay. Sometimes, like tonight, her whole body seemed to be filled with a crawling sensation, and if she didn't move, she'd scream. As soon as she turned over to try to get comfortable, she'd get hot again, and the cycle would repeat itself. Walking around the apartment seemed to be the only thing that would calm her down.

Duncan must know something's wrong. He's being very tolerant. Go to him, she heard a voice in her head say. Then the stranger who had invaded her body of late took over. He's a man. He thinks sex is the solution to everything. He's frozen in time at thirty; you're dealing with fifty. What does he know? Let him sleep alone tonight. It won't kill him.

Tessa tiptoed back into the bedroom, careful not to disturb her sleeping husband, and grabbed her robe and the book by her bedside. She saw his perfectly formed body draped by the sheets, heard his gentle snoring. Tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them away. If she read for a while, maybe she'd sleep until morning.

At eleven o'clock in the morning, Tessa sat on the couch, still in her robe, a pint of double chocolate fudge ice cream softening to just the right eating consistency on the table beside her. She looked up from reading her torrid romance novel. Duncan stood there in brown slacks, a beige turtleneck and sport coat, his face showing concern. "Are you sure you'll be all right? I could postpone the trip, or try to handle it long distance."

"No, Duncan. I told you I'd be just fine. You go ahead and do whatever you have to do at those estate sales in Charleston."

"Charlotte," Duncan corrected.

"Charleston, Charlotte, what's the difference? Call when you get there and let me know you arrived safely. Besides, I have plans with Cecile. She'll only be in town a few days. You know I've been looking forward to this "girl time." She made a concerted effort to keep both her expression and tone neutral.

Duncan bent over to kiss her goodbye. She turned her face up to meet his and accepted his kiss and "I love you," but responded without passion. She really wanted to say, "Just go, get out, and leave me alone," although for the life of her she didn't know why.

"I'll call you tonight," he said as he walked out the door.

She checked the consistency of the ice cream. Perfect. She picked up the carton and dipped out a large spoonful, turning the spoon over before putting it in her mouth so that she tasted just the creamy, rich, cold chocolate, and not the metallic spoon. She allowed the ice cream to take over her entire being for that moment. Five bites later, she resolutely returned the carton to the freezer.

There just aren't enough hours in the day to work off an entire carton any more, she thought. Damn that middle-aged metabolism slow down.

She picked up the novel, read a few pages, and then threw it across the room. She wondered why she was reading it. She hated books like these. Without warning, she burst into tears. Angry at herself for crying, she cried even harder. Eventually the tears stopped; she wiped her face and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

Tessa adjusted the showerhead to the strongest spray possible and let the water beat over her, as if it could pound away whatever was making her so miserable. As she dressed, she thought of Cecile. They had become friends in school in France when they were twelve years old, and had stayed together through college. Cecile had married an American a few years after graduation and moved to the States, to the Chicago suburbs. Although they had parted after college, whenever they got together, any intervening years turned to minutes.

Later that afternoon, Tessa put the finishing touches on her makeup, checked the guestroom one last time, then set out for the airport to meet Cecile's plane. When she got there, the parking lot was almost full. She fought to control her mounting anxiety while she circled the lot looking for an empty space. She finally found a family dragging luggage to a van. She sat, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, while they loaded all their suitcases, got the kids buckled in, adjusted the mirrors, and at last pulled out of the slot so she could claim it.

Tessa arrived in the terminal just as the public address system announced that passengers arriving from flight 1935 would be deplaning at gate sixteen.

What a stupid word, "deplane," she thought as she hurried to the gate. You don't "de-bus," or "de-train," or "de-boat;" why "de-plane?"

She looked expectantly around for her friend. She spotted her easily, although it had been almost ten years since they had seen each other. Cheri's once deep chestnut brown hair was a few shades lighter and streaked with gold highlights. She wore a tunic-length green silk sweater, with a gold chain belt and a black skirt, revealing a shapely figure only the slightest bit thicker than Tessa remembered.

"Cecile!" Tessa exclaimed as she waved from the cluster of people meeting the other passengers.

Cecile walked over, pulling her carry-on bag behind her. The two women embraced. "Tessa, you look terrific. Married life agrees with you," she said when they pulled away.

Tessa laughed as they walked to the parking lot. "You speak with the eyes of a very special friend. You still see me the way I looked in college, I think. But you've held up pretty well yourself, Cecile."

"Well, if you pay a personal trainer, a hair dresser- excuse me, a "colorist", and an esthetician enough money, they can slow down the clock a little. But sometimes I think I just want to live "au naturel" and sit around eating chocolate and getting fat. More lap for the grandkids."

"Cecile! Grandkids? When? Tell me!" Tessa was surprised to find that she didn't feel any of her usual pangs of jealousy. Cecile was probably the only person in the world she could be happy for right now.

"Deborah's expecting in March," Cecile said with a huge grin. "Never thought I'd look forward to being called Grandma. Or should it be Granny, or Gram, or goodness knows what else?"

"I think it's usually up to the grandchild," Tessa said, returning Cecile's smile. "Here's my car. I made reservations for us at Mario's. Are you all right with going straight there, or do you need to stop at my place to freshen up?"

"I'm fine," said Cecile as she put her bag in the trunk. "If we're early, well, we can always have a pre-dinner drink, right? She gave Tessa another enormous hug. "It is so good to see you."

Rush hour traffic had begun to clog the roads as they drove to Mario's, and they arrived just a short time before their reservation. Mario came out to greet Tessa and escorted the women to their table.

"It's good to see you again, Tessa," he said. "Can I bring you ladies a bottle of wine?" He set the wine list between them.

"You pick the wine. I trust your taste implicitly," said Cecile.

"Red or white?" asked Tessa.

"Mmmm, I think I'll have something vegetarian, so it really doesn't matter."

Tessa looked up at Mario. "A bottle of the Rocca del Macie Chianti Classico, please."

After the ritual of approving the wine, Cecile leaned over, her eyes twinkling, and stared at Tessa. "So, is it different, now that you're officially married?"

"After all these years, not really. But I have to admit, thinking of Duncan as my husband does give me goosebumps."

They caught up on all that had happened since they had last spoken. Cecile's husband Frank's plans for early retirement; Cecile not sure she wanted him around the house all day; their vacation plans for Switzerland in the early summer. Tessa listened, trying to pay attention to what Cecile was saying. Before she realized it, the evening had slipped away, as had the bottle of wine.

The dessert cart appeared, and both women hesitated only an instant before pointing at the chocolate raspberry torte. They enjoyed their treats with coffee and without rationalization or guilt.

As they scraped the last sweet morsels from their plates, Cecile spoke. "Are you sure you want me to stay at your place, Tessa? You seem a bit down; you've hardly said a thing all evening. I can get a hotel room, no problem."

"Of course you're staying with me. No argument. The night is young; we can stay up late and talk until dawn like we used to. Duncan won't be back for days, my work is finally taking shape, so my schedule is clear. We can sleep in, eat junk food-do whatever we want." She motioned for the check, and they walked into the crisp night air to Tessa's car.

Traffic had dissipated and they were back at the apartment in twenty minutes. "You can put your things in the guest room down the hall," she said to Cecile. "Do you want some more coffee, or maybe decaf?"

"You know what I'd really like?" Cecile said over her shoulder as she walked toward her room. "How about a fire and some good brandy? I seem to recall you have a fairly decent liquor cabinet."

Cecile returned to the living room. "You've got me in Richie's old room, right? How's he doing? You and Duncan did a wonderful job turning his life around."

"Richie's fine. He's in Mexico now, with yet another girlfriend. I don't think he'll ever settle down. He seems to be keeping out of trouble now that he's given up motorcycle racing. He's even done some buying for Duncan."

Cecile kicked off her shoes and settled herself on the couch. "Now, lets finish catching up."

"Sounds like an all-nighter to me." Tessa lit the fire and poured two snifters of brandy.

"And an honest one, too, Tessa. No secrets. Just like in school. Truth Night." She accepted the glass Tessa proffered.

Tessa hesitated a moment, but after all, she and Cecile had been honest with each other for nearly four decades. "Truth Night," she repeated, nodding her head.

"So, tell me, Tess. How are you handling the big five-oh?"

"Better some days than others," Tessa replied, sticking to the rules of being honest, without going into too much detail. "What about you?"

"You remember Frank had to be in Tokyo, so I pretty much ignored the day. I went to the gym, had my hair cut short, and watched old movies on T.V. Frank did remember to have flowers delivered, so I knew he was thinking of me. And he brought back some exquisite pearls. And of course, there was the phone call from my best friend."

Tessa smiled and got up to refill their snifters. "Your younger best friend."

"Right. And besides, I'd already starting thinking of myself as fifty when I turned forty-nine," Cecile went on. "You know, forty-nine sounds like you're really older and shaving years off your age. Nobody believes you're lying if you say fifty. So I guess I was pretty resigned to it.

"I already know what your big celebration was," continued Cecile. "But you've just had a matter of weeks to adjust; I've been an "old lady" for five whole months now." She stared at her friend, compassion reflected in her blue eyes. "Why the dark circles under your eyes? What's troubling you? Tell me, please."

"I think I'm just tired. I've not been sleeping that well."

"Newlywed not sleeping, or really not sleeping?"

Tessa gave Cecile a poke. "You devil. But..." She had never been able to keep anything from Cecile. She took another sip of brandy and whispered, "Cecile, sometimes I think I might be having a nervous breakdown."

"What would make you think that?"

"I can't sleep; I get so restless I have to get up and walk around. Or I wake up feeling like my body's on fire. I cry over everything and nothing. And sometimes it's like I'm outside my body, watching this evil woman take over. Promise you won't laugh."

"Tessa, it's Truth Night. No laughing at the other's deep dark secrets. I remember the rules."

"Well, once I went to the store, not my usual market. I had this coupon for a free turkey from one of Duncan's clients, but it had to be used at Goodwin's. When I got there, there were no more birds the right size, and the butcher told me that I should just get a bigger one and pay the difference. All of a sudden, this witch took control and started arguing with the butcher, and insisting that he substitute something of equal value; I wasn't going to pay any money. And when he didn't back down, I tore up the coupon and threw it at him, and then I threw the shopping basket, too."

"What happened after that?"

"He gave me a credit toward anything in the store, but I was lucky he didn't call someone and have me thrown out. It wasn't until I got outside that I became all embarrassed and wondered what had driven me to be so rude."

"Well, you did get your coupon traded in."

"Cecile, that's not funny. I don't know what came over me. And then sometimes, I get totally upset over nothing; someone cuts into my lane of traffic, and I have knots in my stomach all day. I walk into a room and forget why I'm there. And poor Duncan ..."

"You mean you feel guilty that it takes a bit longer to get fired up for sex?"

Tessa felt herself blushing as she nodded.

"Or that sometimes no matter what he does, it makes you absolutely furious?"

"How did you know? I screamed for ten whole minutes once when he left the toilet seat up, and I fumed all day. Thank goodness he wasn't home." Tessa stared intently at Cecile. "Do you think I'm going crazy?"

"Oh, Tessa, you poor dear." Cecile leaned over and squeezed Tessa's hand. "You don't need a psychiatrist. First thing tomorrow you'll call your gynecologist and make an appointment. You've described perimenopause perfectly."

"Me? Menopause? I don't think so. Not yet. I mean, I'm still cycling. Not all that regularly, but I thought you had to stop to be menopausal."

"Oh no, not at all. Your body is changing all the time. Your hormones can be going haywire for years before you get to that point."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because, my dear friend, I've been there. I've had all the same symptoms. You need to check with your doctor, but let me tell you, neither Frank nor I could live with me without my hormone replacement."

"You really think-"

"Damn right. You'll be amazed at how much better you feel. I think you'll get rid of your nasty bitch. And you'll probably start sleeping better, too, which helps with the mood swings and MBF. It's hard to be nice when you're exhausted."

"What's MBF?" asked Tessa.

"Menopausal Brain Fog. I remember driving all the way to the Post Office to mail a bunch of Christmas presents, but I'd left all the packages on the floor at home."

"I certainly have that one." Tessa sniffed and wiped her eyes. "I told you, I cry over everything."

"Crying is good, Tess. Go right ahead."

Tessa felt the tears flow, but they stemmed from relief, not confusion or anger. Cecile held her, comforted her, just as they had comforted each other as children.

"Tessa," asked Cecile after the tears had stopped. "Don't you have friends you can talk to about this? If you hadn't been in Paris when I was going through the worst of it, I'd have called you. You're hardly alone; there are millions of us out there."

Tessa wiped her eyes again. "I can't talk to my friends about things like this. I guess it doesn't feel right. You know my mother ... well, we just didn't discuss the facts of life. I learned almost everything from you." She smiled through her tears.

"Well, dear girl, you can email, call, show up on my doorstep any time. I'm here for you. But I think you ought to try the Internet."

"What?"

"I'll show you a great site. You'd be amazed to find out how many women have had exactly the same experiences you have. They're faceless strangers at first; it's much easier to open up. And," she added, "they can't see if you're crying, or throwing things, or stuffing your face with chocolate."

"You've done this, right?"

"Absolutely. I check in at least once or twice a day, as a matter of fact. And I now consider these ladies to be family. We'll log on together tomorrow; I'd love to introduce you to Dee-she nearly jumped over the counter at her dry cleaning lady. She's an artist, too. And Minnie-she does these fantastic cartoons. It helps to be able to laugh about menopause."

"I guess it can't hurt."

"You'll love it, I guarantee. Now," said Cecile, "tell me about what else you've done to poor Duncan."

"I think it's your turn," retorted Tessa. "You tell me what Frank had to put up with while you were getting straightened out."

The two women shared stories for hours, once again laughing like they did in their teens.

The next morning, after making a doctor's appointment for Tessa, Cecile insisted on going shopping. "Lavender body spray and lotion to help you relax; tofu, edamame, flax seed oil, and soy protein powders for the hot flashes."

"But what will Duncan say when I serve him tofu?"

"That's the beauty of menopause. You don't have to care. Just do what you want," Cecile laughed. "Has he coped with your PMS before now?"

"Begrudgingly, but yes," admitted Tessa.

"Well, you can let him know that PMS was Menopause-lite, and that he should just get on the ride with you. It's a Disney E-ticket. He loves you; he'll understand."

"I'm not so sure ... "

"Just work out a signal ... when you say a certain phrase, or gesture in a particular way, he should duck and run for cover. Even though your mind knows that it's just hormones, those little chemicals are all-powerful and can override any logic--and then the fireworks begin. As long as you both understand, you can pick up where you left off without any repercussions. It's worked for me and Frank for years."

"I love you, Cecile."

"Love you, too, Tess."

***

Duncan returned Tuesday evening. He peeked his head into the studio where Tessa was engrossed in her sculpture, blowtorch in hand. He was almost afraid to approach her. He stopped just barely within her line of vision so that she could pretend not to see him if she wanted.

She looked up and raised the visor on her protective helmet. "Hi, Mac. Welcome home." Her face brightened into a grin he hadn't seen in a while.

He released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "If you'll turn off that thing, I'll give you a proper hello."

She put down both torch and helmet. "I'm waiting."

The kiss was anything but the peck he had received when he left. Whatever happened when Cecile visited seemed to have done the trick. Or maybe Tessa had just gotten the handle on her sculpture. He had no intention of asking; he'd just enjoy it. "Missed you. Did you have fun with Cecile?"

"Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. Don't I always?"

"Of course you do. When you're done in here, come into the apartment; I brought you something from Charlotte."

"I can stop now. What did you bring me?" Her eyes twinkled with expectation as she followed him inside.

He showed her an antique silver vase, leaves and rosebuds entwined in bas relief over its surface. "If I don't fill it with flowers once a week, you have the right to punish me any way you see fit. And I'll even polish it," he added. He took her hands in his. "Tessa, I love you. I've loved you from the moment I saw you on the tour boat on the Seine. I will always love you."

"And I'll always love you, too. Thank you, Mac. It's gorgeous, with or without flowers. But I will hold you to the polishing," she said impishly. She raised her face to his, and their kiss surpassed the one in the studio.

"Would you like to go out for dinner?" he asked.

"Actually, I've got dinner all ready to go. I think we should eat at home tonight. We need to talk," she said, a serious expression on her face.

Her words sent a knife through his gut. "We need to talk." His mind whirled, his thoughts a tangle of all the possible reasons Tessa would want to talk, none of them good ones. "About what?" he said, striving to maintain a pleasant expression.

"Let me get cleaned up and get dinner into the oven. We'll talk after we eat. How about starting a fire and opening a bottle of wine?" she asked.

"Sure," he said automatically, his mind racing back over the past week. When he'd called, he'd often gotten the answering machine. When Tessa had answered, she'd sounded distracted. But Cecile was here; they were busy, he rationalized. Or she was working on her sculpture, too involved to talk.

Tessa stroked the contours of the vase, then went to the bedroom to get changed. Duncan glanced at the desk calendar and noticed a doctor's appointment that hadn't been there before he left. He didn't recognize the doctor's name. That was Friday. She's already seen the doctor. Oh God, please. She can't be sick. He noticed a receipt from the pharmacy, but there was just an amount, no copy of the prescription attached. His sense of dread intensified. His heart raced. His palms began to sweat. He told himself to calm down. She wouldn't be so relaxed and happy if she were sick, would she? Or was she just being brave?

Duncan walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a Scotch. Downing it in a single swallow, he forced himself to relax. You don't know what's going on, you idiot. Just wait for Tessa. She'll tell you. You know you can't rush her.

After starting the fire, he picked up the bottle of merlot Tessa had set out. The same kind they'd had the night before he left for Charlotte. That hadn't been a good night; his spirits continued to sink. His hands trembled as he opened the bottle and poured two glasses.

"Can I help with anything else?" he said, poking his head into the bedroom.

Tessa called out from the bathroom. "Put the casserole in the oven at 350. It just needs to be heated. Oh, and take the platter of cheese out. And open the crackers; they're on the counter."

"Done," said Duncan. "Anything else?"

"No. I'll be out in a couple of minutes."

Tessa emerged, dressed in a long flowing black knit dress that hugged every curve. She was wearing the antique silver necklace he'd given her on their wedding day. A silver clip pinned her hair up, accentuating her long slender neck. Duncan's eyes misted. Please, let her be fine. I love her so much. "You're lovely," was all he could choke out.

She smiled nervously. Duncan stared into her face, trying to read any expression that would give him a clue, but he saw nothing beyond apprehension. She wouldn't wait if it was good news. She'd tell him right away.

"How about a glass of wine?" Tessa asked.

Duncan handed her a glass, taking the other for himself.

She raised her glass. "To us," she said softly.

"To us," Duncan touched her glass with his. They sipped their wine. It was all Duncan could do to keep quiet, to wait for Tessa to tell him what was wrong.

Tessa put a piece of cheese on a cracker. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'm sorry. I just love to look at you." *Please, tell me what's wrong.*

She blushed. "Tell me about Charlotte. Anything special at the sale?"

Duncan swore under his breath. The vise in his chest tightened some more. He forced himself to talk about his trip, about the antique sword collection he'd purchased, about the weather in Charlotte, about what he'd eaten, answering all of Tessa's questions while ignoring the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his heart.

"Dinner should be ready. Why don't you sit down at the table; I'll get everything."

She rose and went to the kitchen. Duncan watched her as she moved gracefully through dressing and tossing the salad, cutting slices from a large loaf of bread, and setting a bowl of what looked like fuzzy pea pods on the table. She set a bowl of salad at each place, and the basket of bread in the center of the table.

Duncan popped the beans from the pods into his mouth. "I don't think you've ever served edamame before. I remember eating them in Japan."

"Cecile and I had them at the sushi restaurant, and I really liked them. She showed me where to buy them. I'm glad you like them, too."

They ate their salads and Tessa told him some of the things she'd done with Cecile; they'd spent a day at the salon getting massages, facials and pedicures, talked a lot, and had a genuine "girl-time" visit.

"Sit," said Tessa as Duncan started to clear the salad plates. "I'll do that." She rinsed the plates and brought the casserole from the oven.

"What is this?" asked Duncan as Tessa heaped a generous portion onto his plate. "Doesn't look like something we've had before."

"It's a new recipe. Cecile bought me a new cookbook, too. How do you like it?" She looked at him expectantly.

Duncan tentatively stuck his fork into the mixture. He toyed with it for a minute, both to see if he could identify the contents, and to will his stomach to unclench. Every time he looked at Tessa, he grew more worried. "I see tomatoes, onions, some other green vegetable stuff. Maybe some cheese, some kind of meat? Noodles?"

"Just take a bite and tell me if you like it."

He composed his face so that no matter what he tasted, he'd be able to say it was delicious, and brought the fork to his mouth. He chewed carefully, trying to identify the flavors. He recognized garlic, olive oil, oregano, maybe a hint of red pepper. "It's good, Tess. Some lasagna variation?"

Tessa was eating her portion without hesitation. She swallowed and said, "That's close enough. I think the cookbook called it Italian Tofu Casserole."

"Tofu, eh? What about the ground meat?"

"Actually, that's soy, too. There's no meat in it at all. Even the cheese is soy based."

"Are we vegetarians now?"

"No, *we're* not vegetarians, but there will be some changes in our diet. That is, unless you want to do all your own cooking."

"Tessa, this is fine. I will eat anything and everything you put in front of me. But can I ask why the sudden dietary change?"

"I just thought it would be a healthier way for me to eat."

The knife in his gut twisted. Why does she need a healthier way to eat? An anti- cancer diet? He could stand it no longer. "What's wrong? Please, tell me."

"Let's go to the living room. I think the fire could use another log, don't you?"

Another delay. Duncan practically threw the log into the fireplace. The fire flared, and he sat down on the couch next to Tessa. She handed him his wine glass and snuggled up next to him.

"I guess you may have noticed that I've been testy lately ... "

"Maybe a little," Duncan said cautiously, putting his arm around her.

"It's okay, Mac. More than a little. Maybe "bitch" would be a better word."

"You'll never get me to say that."

"But I'll bet you've thought it more than once. Anyway, Cecile and I were having an all night soul baring session, and I told her about some of the things that have been going on with me."

"You know you could have talked to me. You can always trust me."

"I know that, but it's not necessarily a matter of trust. Sometimes you need another woman to confide in. Someone who knows what it's like to be you, to be mortal, to be growing old."

He nodded, accepting her words, dreading what he might hear next. "Please go on."

"She insisted that I go to the doctor. She called, somehow got me an appointment for the next day, and literally dragged me there, even came into the examining room with me. She really made sure that we discussed all the options and got the best treatment for me."

He pulled away and turned to face her, his hands resting just above her knees. "Tess, my God. What's wrong? Tell me," he pleaded. "I'm here for you, no matter what." She grimaced, and he realized he was gripping her legs tightly enough to hurt her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize ... I didn't mean to get you this upset. I just didn't know how to tell you. I had to get the courage to talk about this. It's not something we've discussed in my family."

He took her hands and stared into her eyes. "Just tell me."

"With everything that's been going on, the sleepless nights, the sweats, the way I snap at you all the time ... I thought I was having a nervous breakdown. Thank goodness Cecile recognized the symptoms and got me to the right doctor."

"Tessa. Please. What did the doctor say?"

"Mac, I'm going through menopause. The doctor prescribed some hormones, and I already feel a difference. I've slept through the last two nights, and haven't thrown anything at anyone--Mac? Mac? What's wrong?"

"Menopause? Did you say menopause? Oh, Tessa. Oh my goodness, Tessa." He didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "If you knew how worried I was--I saw the doctor appointment on the calendar--I thought you were really sick--you said, "have to talk--" He gathered her up in his arms and crushed her to his chest. "Oh, my sweet Tessa."

The knife in his gut disappeared, the vise in his chest loosened, and he realized he was crying, not laughing. He removed the clip from Tessa's hair, letting it fall free so he could run his fingers through it.

Tessa pulled away and reached up for his face. Her expression softened as she wiped the tears from his cheeks. "You're crying."

He looked at her. "You are too." He kissed her face, savoring the saltiness of her tears.

"Well." she smiled at him. "I'm menopausal. I cry at everything. What's your excuse?"

"I'm in love with a menopausal woman." And he hugged her again.

"You know it won't be easy living with me."

"And when has it ever been easy living with a temperamental artist? Tessa, there's nothing wrong with menopause. It's just part of the life cycle. Granted, it's a difficult part-"

Tessa poked him in the chest-hard. He grabbed her hands and kissed her-hard. He felt her body relax into his; he released her hands, and she embraced him.

"So, tell me, how many menopausal women have you been involved with?" she whispered between kisses.

"Counting you?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Let me see." He stopped for a minute, and Tessa pulled away again, looking at him with an expression Duncan wasn't sure was completely in jest.

"That would be one," he said quickly.

"I guess we'll learn how to get through this together, then."

"I can't think of anything better than traveling new roads with the woman I love."

"Even over the bumps?" Tessa asked.

"Especially over the bumps. That's what makes life interesting."

Tessa reached for her wine glass. "To bumps."

"To bumps," Duncan echoed.

Duncan stretched out on the couch, pulling Tessa closer to him. She turned and melted into his body, her legs tucked up under her as she stared into the fire.

"This is hard for me to say," she whispered.

"Just say it, Tessa. Anything. I'll understand, I promise."

"I'm fifty."

"I know that." He tousled her hair.

"I'm serious, Mac." She took a deep breath. "I have the libido of a fifty year old woman. Yours is of a thirty year old man. I can't always be there for you. It doesn't mean I love you any less."

"Tessa, I swear to you, that will not be a problem. I love you. We will work through this. Whatever makes you happy will make me happy."

"Are you really sure?" I mean-"

"Shh, Tess. I'm sure. I've never been surer of anything." He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck and felt her tremble.

"Would you ... just hold me for a while, please?"

"For as long as you like," he whispered. He wrapped his arms around her. "For as long as you like."


The End