Was it eternal friendship or something else?

This one is a little long. The idea for this story came to me almost ten years ago. I have to credit neuroparenthetical as a co-conspirator here. After an early read and his fine editing skills, I must say with conviction, he helped enhance this story beyond expectations. What I couldn't get right in a decade, he set straight in a few days. In the places I was utterly stuck, he ploughed through, keeping the plot and the characters within their original lanes, while providing the impact the piece deserved. Thank you, NP! I hope you enjoy it.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

"My name is Dean. Dean Browning, and my wife is Ashley," I keep repeating to myself.

Have you ever lost your peripheral vision? I have. As a child, I had a condition that remains unnamed and largely untreatable. I say largely, because my pediatrician and my parents found out quite by accident, that Ritalin, along with a baby aspirin and any kind of citrus juice, would stall and sometimes even thwart an episode.

It wasn't just my peripheral vision, but also my mind. I would go somewhere else in my head. Certainly, to me, it felt like a dream-like state. Not in a dream, and not like the movie The Butterfly Effect, where the main character transports through time to his younger years. My halting explanation, as a child, was that I knew reality was still fine, but I had become blurry, and so, to me, reality seemed blurry in turn. I'd lost my prescription eyeglasses, but for my whole being. Obviously, the visual changes were the easiest to describe. They ended up sounding a lot like, well, losing one's prescription eyeglasses, plus the swirling, plus the dimming of all the lights.

In high school, we had to write a paper on what made us unique. Although my condition had mysteriously vanished when I was around seven or eight, I still thought it defined my young life enough to write about it. That spurred me to research all the things I'd been poked and prodded for: glaucoma, retinitis, scotoma, and even diabetes. I basically got a B+ for telling the class all the things that hadn't been wrong with me ten years prior, and, as far as I knew, still weren't.

Thank god for my parents' mistake; their stumbling upon the treatment, completely by accident. A swig from a glass of orange juice to help swallow the Ritalin, right after having chewed an aspirin, had stopped a particularly bad bout dead in its tracks.

I loved my parents. It hit me very hard when they both died in a car crash four months after my seventeenth birthday. I almost didn't go to college as a result. My aunt - my mother's sister - spent hours with me, trying to convince me to still go. She did, eventually. She insisted it was what my mother would have wanted. She also convinced me that a four-year program in electrical engineering would not only help the sting fade, but make my parents very proud, wherever they were.

My freshman year was a grind. I had my nose in my books, leaving very little time to socialize. That ended halfway through my sophomore year. After some classmates began teasing me about being a recluse, I started to venture out. On one of those occasions, I met a very sweet girl, Emily.

I had been making my way through the crowded club as Emily and her mates were doing a bit of friendly jostling. She got pushed into me, and there I stood, wearing a stunning woman's on my shirt and pants. Emily apologized profusely. I put my hand up for her to stop, and we both broke out laughing our heads off. There was something about that laugh and smile that felt contagious.

Emily and I became an item almost right away. We weren't merely compatible; we seemed to share an uncanny and unspoken closeness. It almost felt like two twins, separated at birth, being reunited. That feeling was reinforced by the fact that neither of us were in any hurry to become sexually active. I won't say it was all platonic, but the time we spent getting to know one another seemed to supplant the need for physical intimacy. We spent almost all of our free time doing something together, or, planning what we'd do next.

Of course, all good things, as the saying goes. Four months after Emily and I became a couple, her flat mate moved out and a new girl came along. Ashley Reynolds was a feisty, free-spirited beauty, with a million-dollar smile of her own. She and Emily quickly became good friends. Occasionally, Ashley would join us on our nights out. It happened more and more as we closed in on summer break. It was no longer just Emily and me; there was a third musketeer in our midst. That's how it felt. I wasn't threatened by their friendship. I wasn't jealous of any time they spent together without me - rarer and rarer though that became. Likewise, it didn't seem to matter much to Ashley that Emily and I were an item.

I kept in touch with Emily over the summer break. She was at home with her folks in SoCal, and I was staying with my aunt near our old home in Jacksonville, Florida. Ashley's family lived outside of Chicago. It was a lonely summer and one full of introspection. I thought quite a bit about my childhood, and the good times with my parents. I'd been their only child, and they'd doted on me; 'spoiled' is probably a better word. I tried to think about how marriage might suit me. I'd close my eyes and see if I could picture Emily and me together, with a few children of our own.

When we got back to school in September, Emily pulled me into her dorm room one afternoon when I came round, nearly ripping my clothes off. The sex that day was furious, with both of us craving relief. It was the first time we had intercourse. The entire previous year, we'd only used our hands and mouths. Emily seemed to have three or four orgasms, while I did my best to make it last. I won't say I succeeded. Everything pent up in me crashed through in about fifteen minutes, but I never went soft, and for our second round we were both more deliberate.

I asked about Ashley after our third date. Em told me she'd met someone, and we'd probably also meet him soon. There was a moment of sadness, hearing that, and I couldn't pinpoint why. I needn't have worried. Three nights after learning about Ashley's new boyfriend, Em and I met him.

Steve and I took to each other right from the start. We both had plenty in common: baseball, fast cars and specifically rebuilding their engines, fly fishing, and collecting sports cards. Many nights out at a club or dinner, Emily or Ashley would have to remind us there were four people at our table.

There were now four musketeers. I could tell that Steve and Ashley were having sex by their expressions and body language. Emily was insatiable for those first three months of our junior year. Ashley was the only one of us who was a sophomore, but she wasn't really sure what her future held. She actually spoke offhandedly about dropping out on several occasions. The energy between the four of us was slowly changing.

After one extremely pleasurable romp, Emily placed her head on my chest and looked up at me.

"Would you date Ashley?" she asked, not even bothering to set up the trap. She just launched it right at me. "I'd like it if you did."

I must have looked at her incredulously, thinking it was a joke. "Date Ashley?" I half-stated, half-asked, "Why would you want me to do that?"

"Because," she responded, "I want to date Steve."

I felt sick. Emily studied my reaction, wordlessly. Neither of us said anything for a minute or two. Once Emily was convinced I wasn't going to throw up in her bed, she continued.

"Dean, I'm talking to you as a friend now," she said, "I consider you one of my best friends in this world. We have a lot of fun together, and I would never do anything to screw up our friendship. Straight up, I have a thing for Steve, and no matter how I've tried, I can't shake it. I had to talk to Ash about it, because girls... women notice these things. Anyway, during that talk, she confided in me that she spent the summer riddled with guilt. You see, she'd been having thoughts - maybe more like daydreams - of us breaking up. She has a thing for you Dean, and she's got it bad."

She let that sink in. I tried to remember any time the four of us had been together where maybe I'd missed the signs. The problem was, Steve and I, always got on about something or the other. I realized that I hadn't been paying much attention to either Ashley or Emily during our outings.

"Dean," she said, shaking me out of my stupor. "I wouldn't hurt you; I hope you know that. One date is all I'm asking. Well, I suppose I'm also asking you to trust me. Let's see how you and Steve feel afterwards. If I'm right, then the two of you will probably agree to, or even ask for, a second."

I was so nervous going to pick up Ashley for our first date. I didn't want to screw up my relationship with Emily or Steve, and it was all I could think of driving over to the dorm. Steve had picked up Em an hour earlier. The girls had planned it that way to avert any awkwardness. They failed miserably, because there was more than enough awkwardness to go around between me and Ashley - and, I hoped, between Steve and Em.

Ash sensed it right away. She took my hand and we went for a walk instead of getting in my car. We didn't say anything to each other until we started around the next block.

"Dean, I know this probably seems sudden and out of place," Ashley said. "Please try to relax. None of us can predict the outcome, but Em and I felt like we at least needed to test the waters, and we had to find a respectful way to do it. 'Nobody gets hurt' was our main objective, believe me."

I'll try," I stumbled, finding my voice. "I'm not sure about anything; I'm just going to go with the flow, okay?"

"That's all I can ask," she stated assuredly. "That's all any of us can ask."

Well, the first date was a wash. Maybe 'disaster' would be a better word. We were all so worried about hurting one or more of our friendships, that we basically didn't have dates at all. We all agreed to try one more time, and to try to relax. We made promises to each other sitting around the kitchen table at my apartment. The promises were sincere, and we all felt that.

After date number two, it seemed the girls might be onto something. The kiss I received at the end of that date, from Ashley, was smoldering. I'd never experienced it before, with Emily or anyone else. I had to relieve myself when I got home.

My new relationship couldn't compete, at first, with what I'd had with Emily - not emotionally. Physically, though? It was incredible.

Emily, I came to realize, was more like the sister I'd never had. She was like a best friend wrapped up in a sister. I could say the same about Steve being that brother, although we never fought like many siblings. I found that odd actually. The closest we came was civil and respectful disagreement. With the switch of partners the entire dynamic of our double dates changed. There'd been a tension to them before that that I'd never even noticed until it was gone. It was replaced by a new tension - the good kind of tension. Steve and I still dug deep into our shared interests, but both of us found it much harder to ignore our new girlfriends for extended periods of time. It embarrassed me a little - pained me, even, to be honest - that Steve and Em might have been sharing flirty looks and longing gazes for months. Post-swap, though, I was sharing them with Ashley, and she with me. Steve was sharing them with Em, and vice-versa. It was all working out.

Against all odds, our four-way friendship survived - thrived, even. I'd been terrified. I honestly don't even know how I'd ever found the courage to agree to that first date with Ashley. The fear of losing three people I cared deeply for, all at once, in a metaphorical train wreck - one that we ourselves would have plunged into headfirst - had set me to such a panic that I'd had to seek out help from the college's counseling services. Since I hadn't been able to actually talk to them about what had been happening with the four musketeers, I'd instead wrestled with some serious issues stemming from the loss of my parents. Wouldn't you know it, it had all been connected.

Healing is a process. I still had fears, even as the weeks went by and everything seemed so natural, so easy, and so right. I never told any of the other three about them. I hoped that I'd just get over it. As it turned out, the trio had other plans.

After our fourth one-on-one dates, we met up at Jimmy's Grub Shack, and we actually sat down and talked about it - about everything. I almost had a panic attack. I found myself reaching for my emergency Ritalin and aspirin, but it never quite got there. I forced myself to open up to my friends, and lean on them. They were doing the same with each other, including me. They were happy. I was too. Ashley and I were becoming a real couple, and it became obvious that Steve and Em were one already. We danced around the sex bits, but all four of us got the message: things were better post-swap. Everything felt natural. Nothing felt forced.

Fear and doubt finally gave way to a different kind of disbelief - the good kind. We'd actually done it. We were going to be okay, both as couples, and as the four musketeers.

I graduated the following year with my civil engineering degree in electronics. Steve graduated law school, and worked as an intern for eighteen months before he could take the bar. He passed on the first try. Ashley completed a two-year Associates degree in graphics arts. Emily was the brain of our group. She finished cum laude in her field of marine biology.

Ashley and I were engaged two weeks after graduation. We'd already decided to move to a suburb of Jacksonville. I was fortunate enough to get a job with the State of Florida right out of the gate. Em and Steve were only two months behind us announcing their engagement. We would have a June wedding, while our best friends would wed in September.

They also moved to Jacksonville for Emily's job, although the law firm Steve worked for had corporate offices in Savannah. Our houses were six blocks apart. We continued to see each other most weekends. Of course, Emily was Ashley's maid of honor, and Steve my best man. They both planned our bachelor and bachelorette parties. There was plenty of booze on both counts, but we all agreed not to have strippers at them. They would be on the same night, one week before our wedding day.

The night of my shindig, I was feeling no pain. At one point, it seemed Steve was missing in action for quite a while, but I was too far gone to say for sure. The next afternoon, Steve called me.

"Hey, Deano," he said teasingly, "how's your head?"

We talked about the party for a bit, sharing the highlights, as best as our hung over brains could recall them. There were plenty of lowlights too, since some of our co-workers - his and mine - weren't very good at holding their liquor.

"Dean," Steve's tone changed. "I need to tell you something, so it's out in the open. Last night, I got a text from Emily. She told me everyone was beyond wasted, and Ashley was 'falling down drunk' was I think how she put it. Anyway, she asked me to come take her home, or if I was too plowed, to call a cab. I didn't want to ruin your fun, but I was worried about the girls, so I went over and took her home, then came back."

"Okay, so?" I asked. "It sounds like you did the right thing. Same as any of us would have done, no questions asked. Is there something else?"

"Nothing else." Steve stated flatly. "I never keep anything from you, and like I said, I didn't want you to worry about her. Besides, you were way too drunk to help her get home anyway. I didn't tell you then, so I'm telling you now, is all."

"Okay?"

Steve sighed. "Come on, man. You know why I'm telling you that nothing happened. What the four of us have is awesome, but it's got some weird history behind it."

"Huh," I replied. "I guess I just don't think about that anymore."

"Well," he said, "that's actually really cool that you don't. I don't usually either, but it's a bachelor and bachelorette party, and everybody's wasted, and so I did think of it, once I sobered up a little. I love you, man. No secrets."

"No secrets," I agreed.

And that was that. No fear, no doubt, no panic attack; no Ritalin, no aspirin, no orange juice. I probably should have had some orange juice, really, for unrelated reasons. We then moved on, talking about how much the bar tab had cost Steve.

The wedding was much like most others. We had a lovely ceremony. We both read our own handwritten vows, we both wanted to punch the nagging photographer, and we both got a little cake face. Our honeymoon in Cancun was memorable. Where Emily had a small frame, tiny boobs, and even ridiculously small feet, Ash was full-figured. Don't get me wrong; she was only one-hundred-twenty pounds on a five-six body, but she filled that body out voluptuously. She was between a C and a D cup, and the heads she turned in her bikini made me jealous.

We made love several times per day, for the whole trip. The best part to me was the tenderness and the warm gentle kissing and exploring each other's body as foreplay. That wasn't something we'd really spent time doing in college. I guess I just felt closer to Ashley somehow, if that was even possible.

A few months later, it was Steve and Emily's turn. We reversed roles, helping them to plan and handling certain details, even though both sets of their parents were still alive. Less than a year later, Ashley became pregnant, and our friends were just two months behind us. We all went to Lamaze classes together.

Destiny was born on a hot, humid August day. Haley was born four days before Halloween. Steve and I doted on our girls. All of us had everything we needed. We had wonderful families and wonderful friends. Each couple was, between them, making enough money to plan meaningful futures.

Emily had that kind of job where she wasn't 'on call,' per se, but was needed at some of the most inopportune times. That worked out well, because Ashley and I had flexible schedules. In fact, Ash didn't go back to work until Destiny was three. Nine months after Haley was born, Steve was told to be at his corporate office to do case work for a major trial the firm was handling. Ashley and I worked out a schedule with them; we went there and helped prepare dinner, or Em and Haley came to ours. We watched her regularly, and, a few nights during those six weeks, even kept her overnight with us so Em could get some sleep. We also drove them up to see Steve three of those six weekends he was away.

Steve and Emily reciprocated when I had to go for a ten-day training in Miami. Destiny and Ashley were in good hands. I only worried the appropriate amount for a father separated from his precious baby girl.

Fast forward we went. We spent almost every weekend together, and we planned at least one vacation per year together too. The funny thing was we just never grew tired of one another. I think with our similar attitudes and goals, we were a good fit. Our girls became even closer friends, because, well, they were always together.

I would coach the girls' soccer team, and one year, when Destiny wanted to try basketball, Steve stepped in because I had a big work project. He coached her team to the championship. I was proud of them both.

If I had to name one wrinkle in our perfect relationship, I guess it would have to be over-familiarity. Once Emily 'pants'ed me at the HOA pool, in front of four or five other couples - who were friends of ours - and a few teenage kids too.

Then there was an April fool's prank of kissing and groping on the dance floor by Ashley and Steve. Neither Emily nor I laughed at that, but then again, Em didn't complain either, which upset me.

On one of our yearly Labor Day vacations to a friend's ranch, Emily came up and French kissed me after Steve and I performed a Julio Iglesias/ Willie Nelson song during Karaoke. I'd done the Willie part, and when the kiss broke off, I just stared at her.

"What," she mock questioned me, "I don't like Julio, but your Willie was just perfect."

None of these events alone seemed like too much of a big deal. Still, they nagged at me. I wasn't one to think of doing any of those things, let alone to act on them. The trouble for me was that no one else seemed at all concerned about them. Not even the onlookers at the club, or at the pool. I felt anxious, nervous, and I couldn't say why. I knew from my counseling that I had an unhealthy fear of being alone, or even the odd man out. Sometimes I wondered if others could pick up on those fears, and use them against me, even in the context of a joke. I'd cast those fears aside as best I could. I didn't want them to know how I felt.

The one thing I'll never understand about women is the silly things they get up to, especially regarding supposed heartfelt 'Kodak' type moments. Some Saturday nights, sitting around our kitchen table, Steve and I had to endure an unsurpassed level of estrogen as our wives carried on about this or that, usually some idea from a women's magazine. Their favorite pastime, other than building miniatures, was collecting and partaking in pacts, pledges, oaths and promises. They were always searching for more, mostly from magazine articles, but occasionally from the city library.

They were wide-ranging, and honestly, I don't remember very many. Steve and I would be deep in conversation. The ladies would interrupt us to go over the new pledge or promise in detail. I rarely paid attention, waiting patiently so I could continue talking to my good friend about our mutual interests. There were a few, though, that were memorable. The first of us to get into a fender-bender (none of us had, at the time) had to wash the other family's cars for a month. That ended up being Steve. I told him to stop talking on his cell while driving. Most were like that; some were deeply emotional - Steve liked to trot out the term 'void for vagueness' from time to time, until it became clear that that was a trip to the doghouse for him - and, even though I wasn't up with the lawyer talk, I had to admit that that sounded like a fair characterization.

Some of those sounded very serious, even though they fell apart upon close inspection. Others got eerily specific.

One that comes to mind was a hypothetical: if we were all hanging from a rope over the edge of a cliff, who would be the one to let go, in order to save the others? I suppose it was memorable because it wasn't a pledge, but more like a test.

Occasionally, the girls took these pacts and pledges so seriously they'd get a needle, and we'd have to prick our finger and sign the pledge with our blood. A blood oath, they called it. I never paid them much heed, and Steve had learned very quickly that trying to 'lawyer' the girls was not the right play. Ah, the grand paradox of female attention. We were supposed to demonstrate our enduring interest for them, symbolically, by feigning just enough interest in these silly games of theirs. We weren't supposed to actually take them seriously, because that would be some kind of an attack, or disrespect, or whatever. I think Steve used that exact word: paradox. "You take it seriously, and that's their evidence you're not taking them seriously."

I was the guy who had to talk him out of the courtroom inside his head: "Happy wife, happy life. You smile and nod, she smiles and bobs."

At some point they just stopped doing it. My approach had clearly been the correct one. They still kept all the ones they - and we - had already done up, though. There was a big plastic bowl full of them, plus the ones that the wives eventually scrapbooked.

All things change, and that's a given. All good things do come to an end, eventually. We were forty-three, and the girls were about to start their senior years of high school, when Emily got the news.

Skin cancer. The details are too unbearable to describe. After much initial agony, the two elongated bumps were removed, and after several months of holding our collective breaths, Em was given the all clear, with strict instructions about sun wear and diet. Another part of the regimen was monthly check-ups and blood tests. Just as we were releasing those breaths, March fifteenth happened.

The cancer was back, and had metastasized to her internal organs: a kidney and a lung. The prognosis wasn't good. Chemo started right away. We all banded together, and, as grief-stricken and worried as Ashley, Destiny and I were, we trudged forward, trying with all our might to carry as much of our friends' burdens as we could. I spent a lot of time with Steve, just letting him blow off steam and take a break, while Ashley and the girls looked after Emily. We talked candidly about his sadness, his hopefulness and everything else that was on his mind. He was scared, and it's hard for a man to show those kinds of feelings to another, but to Steve's credit, he opened up.

He was the lawyer, so anything that had to be done 'just in case,' he took care of. I kept his yard, and would take or pick up Haley and my daughter to anything and everything - even though Haley was often torn between wanting to go out and feeling like she had to stay in. Destiny tried to do for her what I did for Steve. I was so proud of her. I also helped with the grocery shopping, and prepared meals that we took over for them. We did everything we could to help normalize their lives, but cancer wasn't going to let us get all the way there.

July tenth was a day of profound sadness for me. That's selfish to say, but it's the truth. Emily was - not had been, dammit, but still was - very important to me. When I'd met her, in college, it had been quite a few years since I'd lost my parents. But without Em's help - her caring and her genuine heart I don't think I ever would've healed as well as I did. It had taken knowing her to realize I hadn't healed much at all yet, and that I could do so much better, as long as I had some help. She'd helped me first, even before Ashley and Steve had come into my life. I owed her. I resolved to pay down that debt as much as I could by looking out for her widower and her daughter. It wasn't going to be hard. He was my best friend. She was like my second daughter already.

We spent the rest of the summer in a fog. We tried to be supportive of each other; we really did. I tried to keep my promise to Emily. We just didn't have it in us. We grieved together, but unhealthily. We sat. We stewed. We withdrew.

Ashley, Steve and I took the girls to college the weekend after Labor Day. We helped them settle in, gave our parental words of encouragement, and headed home the next day. None of us were okay. None of us knew how to help the others.

I noticed Steve and Ashley occasionally giving each other looks over the weekend - not flirty or sexual looks, just the kind that tells the observer there's something wrong. It was like something was looming, and only the two of them knew what it was.

The ride home was very quiet, all of us thinking to ourselves. After dropping Steve off at his house, I decided to wait out Ashley to see what she might say or divulge. Nothing.

We ate a subdued dinner. Ash and I sat in our living room, but when I reached for the remote, she gently put her hand on my wrist.

"Honey, there's something..." she began, and then hesitated.

I just waited.

"Something I need to show you," she finally said, "and then we need to talk, okay?"

I nodded, seeing that stricken look on her face. I wasn't going to like this - at all.

Ashley returned with the scrapbook. I hadn't seen it for several years, and had been under the impression it resided at Steve and Emily's home. There was a page Ash had marked with a Post-it, and as she opened it, my wife turned to look at me.

"I want you to read this," she said seriously, "all of it. Then we can talk about what it says, okay?"

She handed me the book. The first thing I saw was four red fingerprints at the bottom of the page with each of our names below one of them. It was a blood oath surrounding one or more of our deaths. I began to read carefully. There were things we'd all promised - although I didn't remember doing so - like tasks, and chores, to help out the family that lost an official member.

One was about the opposite couple's husband taking care of the outside work, keeping the cars in good working order, the sorts of things if one of the husbands died. We'd certainly helped with that, even though Steve was quite capable. The flip-side was written, too. If one of the women passed, the pledge went on, the opposite female spouse would help with cooking and housework for as long as needed. For the most part, we'd also done that. There was a list of specific tasks that focused on the deceased spouse's child. The other couple would adopt the girl, if both her parents passed at the same time, and she was still underage. That one brought a tear to my eye.

There were two items that specifically laid out what we'd all do on the anniversaries of the death of one or more of the four of us, to pay homage and respect. That brought a few more tears. I had to admit, it was beautiful stuff.

Then I came to the last item - number fourteen.

"The opposite gendered spouse of the opposite family of the aggrieved spouse will provide sexual and emotional relief, four times, once for each person in this pact, over a period of no longer than four months."

I had to reread it. It didn't make sense and had to be a joke, but the timing was so off. I looked up at Ashley, who was studying my face for any reaction, her bottom lip unconsciously held between her teeth. We just stared at each other for some time. I'm sure it felt longer than it actually was.

"What is this?" I asked, utterly dazed.

It took her a minute. "A promise," she stated solemnly.

My eyes broke contact with hers. "Bullshit," I said emphatically. "It's a joke, Ashley, and... I can't even... bad taste? Not the time? I don't even have the words."

"It's not a joke, Dean," she replied more quietly than before. "We made a blood oath. Not a pledge or a promise, and certainly not a joke. I would never."

She seemed to want to move quickly on to the negotiation stage, and I sensed that. I wasn't there yet - I was light years away from there. I reread the entire document, taking my time. I studied my signature, below my blood, to see if it had been forged. I had no idea why. It just seemed like the thing to do.

"I don't accept this." I said. Suddenly, my smug advice to Steve came rushing back to me. I could not fucking believe it - and I meant that literally. At that moment, I still could not believe that I'd been wrong, because I could not believe that Ashley, my wife, was serious. Her words, her tone, and her body language all told me that she was serious. That was not enough.

Ashley didn't break eye contact, but she pointed to the bottom of the page. I knew what she meant. Emily had truly cared about these silly things. That was the weak spot. Her finger may as well have been a dagger, pushing right into it.

Before I could sputter out anything else, she started up.

"In order for this to work..." she began, and that was enough to jar my tongue loose. I cut her off.

"Ashley," I said sternly, "if you're playing with me, you need to stop, now. This isn't funny."

She looked at me like I was crazy, I'd never seen that look before, but I knew what it was instantly - and that's what made me believe it. She wasn't joking. She was dead serious, and she was going to emotionally blackmail me with the memory of my dead best friend.

"I can't talk about this right now. This is ridiculous, Ash. You're willing to destroy our marriage for a... piece of fucking paper? Emily isn't even he..." I stopped, realizing what I'd almost said, as Ashley's face went white. I stood and went into our makeshift home office and closed the door. I cried again, thinking of Emily, and everything that had happened these past few months.

When I came out forty-five minutes later, Ashley was upstairs in our room. I sat down and absent-mindedly started going through the scrapbook. I came upon something that gave me hope. It was another pledge the girls had obviously made everyone sign, but without the blood. After reading it, I took it out of its sheath and went into our office and made a copy. On a Post-it I wrote: "Wondering if this pledge supersedes the other. Kinda seems like it should." I put the copy by the coffee maker. She'd see it first thing. The promise read:

If you need to talk, I'll listen

If you need to cry, I'll hold you

If you feel lost, I'll help guide you

If you need to be angry, I'll let you

If you're feeling afraid, I'll comfort you

If you're feeling attacked, I'll be your defense

If you need to lean awhile, I'll give you a shoulder

If you're feeling unsure, I'll be your confidence

If you're feeling alone, I'll be the friend that won't leave you

If you need to learn to trust again, I'll prove to you that you can

By some miracle, I fell asleep on the couch. There certainly wasn't any good sleep that night. I was up and out by six-thirty, with Ashley still asleep.

The next evening, Monday, I pulled in my driveway after work, and there was Steve's Beemer. I parked in the garage, and sat there taking several deep breaths. I could feel the blood rushing to my temples, knowing I was about to get ganged up on. Before going in, I opened the garage fridge and pulled out two cans of hoppy IPAs. I drank one straight down, and then took both the empty and the full can into the house.

There, in the kitchen, were Ashley and Steve. It looked like they'd been busy preparing my favorite dish. If they thought that was all it would take, they had another thing coming. Ashley saw me standing there at the entryway to the kitchen, with two beer cans in hand. After an odd look about the beers, she came quickly to me, pulling me into an embrace, and dishing up a smoldering kiss.

"Hey, buddy," Steve said, his overly-happy voice all too obvious. "How was work?"

I grumbled something, and their smiles disappeared.

Ashley let go of me and again looked down at my hands. "Getting an early start tonight?"

I suddenly thought better of overindulging. I was outnumbered. The fact that Steve was a lawyer stabbed into my brain like a needle. After that, my imagination only took me to worse places: the two of them tying up my drunk, unconscious body, and then getting their blood-oath party started right away.

I didn't answer her question. I dumped the empty in the trash, and told them I was going to go change and get cleaned up for dinner. Let them chat about how to proceed, I thought. I took my fresh beer with me.

Dinner was eerily quiet, and the little conversation we had was forced. Every once in a while, I got the sense that one of them might call off this little charade. Neither of them did. Right after my last bite, Ashley sprang to her feet, announcing we'd have desert in the living room.

I went to the garage and brought back two more beers - one for me and one for Steve.

I realized, as I went to fetch the beers that I was seeing him as the enemy now, instead of a life-long best friend, and I didn't like that feeling at all. I tried to reframe things in my mind: was there something I could do to change the way I was thinking and feeling? I thought about listening to what they had to say, without losing my temper, or my mind. I considered whether that would even be possible.

Steve was already seated on the sofa when I handed him the beverage. I fleetingly wondered if Ashley would sit next to him, while I was in my recliner, so they could address me together.

I didn't sit in the recliner. It was too comfortable, and there would be no room for any comfort tonight. Instead, I dragged the heavy upholstered chair over closer to the couch and took my seat. Steve began immediately.

"Listen, Dean, I..." Ashley walked in then, and Steve stopped mid-sentence. She did sit on the sofa, but at the other end from Steve.

"I'm sure you figured out what this was all about as soon as you pulled in," my wife began. "I thought we could all talk about this. I think you may have some misconceptions, and I want to address those first..."

I cut her off. "Ashley, we can talk. I'll listen, and then I'll respond. Don't start by belittling me. I don't have any misconceptions. I know what this is about, and I've thought of nothing else since you laid it on me last night. I'm up to listening, and gauging the people who are supposed to care about me, but this isn't going to be a negotiation. Do you both understand?"

They looked at each other before nodding. I didn't like that one bit. Ashley laid it out again, just like the night before. She then explained the oath, and all of us agreeing to it. How important it was for her to keep her promise to Emily. How hard they, Steve and she, both knew it would be on me, and finally how we could move forward. When she stopped to take a breath I spoke up.

"I take it you saw the other pledge I left for you, "I said, "and that you read it." She nodded and I went on.

"You two are seriously breaking a lot of those promises, all while trying to keep this one," I said, "including one that's indisputably legally binding. You know... our marriage? That one? Didn't see the marital vows in the scrapbook. Funny, that."

"We aren't," Ashley replied quickly, "not at all. I'll still be doing all those things, and so will Steve. We'll be here for each other." Then she sighed. "Dean, listen to me. We aren't stupid either. We both understand that you're going to need our support... to get past it. I can't pretend to understand it, but Steve has tried to explain the male psyche and what will probably be going through your mind, and your heart. We can both help you with the pride or ego, whatever it is."

I looked at Steve, shaking my head. Then I addressed my wife, looking her right in the eye.

"That's shallow thinking on your part. "Nobody in their right mind wants their assailants to be their therapists. That would be insane. Don't you get that? And how dare you try to make this about my mental state."

I looked Steve in the eye. "I'm surprised at you. Is this what you've been plotting behind my back? And let me ask you, did this lesson on the male psyche include yours? Did you admit that if Em and I were pulling this on you, you'd be fucking livid? That you'd be sitting where I'm sitting now - or standing and pacing, I think, actually - doing a million times better lawyering on us? Or did you leave that part out? Did you straight-up fucking lie to my wife in a situation where, wow, what a coincidence, the end result is that you get to fuck her? Is that the kind of sleazy shit that got you past that big ethics test you're always talking about - that got you admitted to the bar?"

"That's exactly it, Dean," Steve replied, "It's not sleazy at all. It was a promise between friends, an oath. I'm your friend, for what - more than twenty years, Dean? It's me, here. I'm not after your wife's heart. I'm not after anything. You're both my friends, and I want more than anything for that to continue forever. That's why this is so... okay."

I saw the slip, even though he recovered quickly. "'That's why this is so right,'" I said shaking my head. "That's what you were about to say, right Steve? Right for who - you two? You both seem to want it to be 'okay' with me, while it's just 'so right' for you.

"You just said you weren't after anything. Great. We're done. You're not after anything, so you don't get anything; not a problem. Temporary insanity, Steve. Plead it right now. Ashley, you too. You're grief-stricken, just like I am. I lost her too. We can all admit we lost our minds, and we can all go get some therapy. The girls are at college, so we have the time. We can get past this. We can stay friends."

It was quiet for a minute. I knew, deep down, it wasn't going to work. I wasn't Steve. Worse, I was beginning to feel in my bones that neither Steve nor Ashley were the people I thought they were.

"Okay, Dean, I do honestly understand a lot of what you're saying." My wife responded, it was clear she was committed to keeping this going. "But the part where you're stuck is also where you have it all wrong. We all agreed to this, and we knew it was going to be hard. If it had been Steve... not Em, it would have been hard for me, when you went to her. But not like you're thinking. I would be sad, for me. I would be committed for Emily, and Steve. I would trust you not to hurt me even more. I'd rely on your love, when you came home... to me. I think, in a way, I'd be jealous, but if you and Emily both convinced me in loving ways - convinced me that we'd all be okay, showed me that nothing had changed - I'd get over it. I'd actually be proud... of myself and both of you."

Double fucking bullshit, Ashley," I said. "You would not have been okay with it. I know you too well." I didn't know her at all, apparently. "But wait - there's more. You skipped straight ahead to me 'going to' Em. Well guess what? If ever, ever, in a million fucking years, would I have ever even considered doing that... it would've had to have been because you and Emily both begged me. No hesitation. Me, legitimately fearing that you'd both gone totally insane with grief over the loss of our dear friend over here.

"She was like a fucking sister to me, Ashley," I said. I let disgust permeate my voice. "You and her were the ones that helped me realize that, all those years ago! I wouldn't have wanted to fuck her, and, I wouldn't have wanted to cause you a single moment of discomfort, pain, mistrust or jealousy."

"Then why did you sign, Dean?" she asked. "Why?"

"Okay," I sighed, staring daggers at Steve. "I guess we're really doing this. I guess all this happiness was on a credit after all."

"You're not making any sense, honey," Ashley said. "You're scaring me a little."

I folded my arms and returned my gaze to her. "Car engines," I said. "Go."

Steve shifted uncomfortably. Ashley just sat there, confused.

"Steve and I talked about them literally all the time, Ashley," I said, feigning surprise. "We were both so passionate about them. It was clearly important to us. You, loving and attentive spouse that you are, surely took an interest because we were so interested. You really tried to keep pace, right?"

"That was your thing," Ashley said. "We didn't want to intrude, and, no, I wasn't all that interested. And that's okay."

"Mmmm," I said. "Well, honey, since I'm basically blowing up the illusion of our happy marriage anyway, I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I think you're going to connect these dots, so I'm going to do it for you and move this along. You and Em had your thing, that Steve and I had no fucking interest in. But you insisted. You pushed. But you didn't even do that in good faith.

"Fucking lawyer boy over here," I jerked my head towards Steve, "if he had an ounce of honesty and decency in him, would back me up on this. He would rant about how you guys wanted our attention, but didn't actually want us to pay real attention to this oath, pledge, and promise stuff. Steve actually tried to engage, once or twice. I know you remember. He got burned so badly, by both of you - but especially by Em. You two didn't want to hear it. You made it abundantly fucking clear that us smiling, nodding, and pretending to care just enough so that you never felt threatened in the slightest - 'void for vagueness,' right old buddy old pal? - was part of the price we needed to pay to keep our marriages healthy. And we fucking paid it. And I told Steve that that's how it was.

"But I was wrong," I said. "Credit. Turns out we were just racking up the debt, and now it's all coming due. And I'm not going to say what I really want to say about Steve the lawyer, and how he makes out in this situation, because I have too much respect for Emily to say it. I'm still willing to assume that all three of us are genuinely grieving her loss, rather than looking forward... to certain things."

Steve shifted again. I'd gotten under his skin. He wanted to get up and give me a big "Fuck you!" I had to give him credit that he didn't. He knew he was in a hole.

Ashley shook her head. "You're in so much pain, Dean," she said. "Steve is too. So am I, but this oath we took... it's something I need to do, for both of them. You said it yourself, in a very, very hurtful way. Em and I took this seriously. I still do. Can't you respect that? Can't you find a way to see this as honoring Emily's sincere wishes?"

"I've already spoken ill of the dead, so no," I said. "Don't keep making me do it, Ashley. Stop being a fucking lunatic."

"Okay, that's it, buddy," Steve said. "You don't talk to your wife like that, or else-"

"Or else she's going to go fuck some other guy, and probably divorce me, and shack up with him instead?" I finished for him. "Here's some advice: that's something you need to threaten a guy with before you and his wife tell him that you want to cuckold him. If you fuck the order up, he gets the crazy idea in his head that that's gonna happen anyway. Didn't they teach you how to lay a proper guilt trip in law school, Steve? I'm kinda shocked you're so bad at it. Not your particular area of expertise?"

"It's not going to happen," Ashley cut in. She had real steel in her voice. "I'm not going to leave you, and certainly not for Steve. That's not what this is about. It never was, and it never will be."

That actually left me speechless. I didn't believe her, necessarily, but she sounded more than sincere. She sounded adamant. That, in turn, made me believe that she really had lost a good chunk of her mind. I just didn't know what do about that. She was a crazy person who genuinely believed that she needed to hurt her husband - probably destroy her marriage - to stay loyal to her dead friend, by fucking that dead friend's widower exactly four fucking times.

Ashley said. "This conversation is over... for now."

The pause had already made my blood start boil, even before the all-too-predictable hammer dropped after it.

"Both of you apologize to each other," she said. "You're best friends. Act like it."

I wanted to laugh in her face. I couldn't. They say that some things are so horrible that you only have two options: laugh, or cry. I'd discovered something beyond that, where I could do neither. I didn't apologize. Steve didn't either. I just walked away.

Ashley was the double-edged sword at the center of my fear and my misery. It made me consider things I should never have had to consider. That's what I did, there, in the darkness.

If I were to take Steve and Ash at face value - that they were both honest and sincere in all of this - then I could recognize that Ashley's did in fact feel an overpowering need to honor a dire promise she'd made. Steve, of course, if he was being honest, saw the sex as a big nothing - no "there" there. When Ashley had put her foot down and insisted that "they" were never going to happen, I'd gotten nothing from him - not a hint of surprise or disappointment.

The problem was I didn't believe them. There'd been those looks when we'd taken the girls to school. They'd ganged up on me, even before making it plain earlier that night. That wasn't what honest people did. A pact between four should've been discussed amongst all the surviving members, right off the bat. If any one-on-one could have been justified in any way, it would've been between husband and wife.

From my earlier counseling, along with what I'd seen and heard from Ashley and Steve, provided two conclusions, and the beginnings of my action plan. Steve and I were finished. It was crystal clear what his game was here. Ashley was trickier. If she really and truly believed she needed to blow up her entire world, just to make good on this stupid promise, then there would be some hope for us, through therapy. To me, that meant deep, clinical therapy. That also fell under the vows of 'in sickness or in health.' However, if I determined that Ashley was doing the same as Steve - mainly using this fucking oath as a means to have permissive sex with my former friend - then we were done.

When morning came, I focused on protecting myself. I cleared out the spare room, and made plans to purchase an air mattress as soon as possible. I held out the vain hope that the two of them would just let it go. That didn't last long at all. Ashley came right back to it that night.

"Honey, that was probably a mistake, last night," she said apologetically. "I never stopped to consider that I put two men, friends or not, into some sort of competition. Women don't think that way. I understand that now. That's why number fourteen was on that list to begin with. We would have gladly, proudly given that of ourselves... Em and I. We'd both already been with both of you guys in that sense anyway. I guess it's true that women will never understand men's pride and ego."

"But they'll agree to the marriage vows anyway, despite not 'understanding' them," I shot back.

It didn't even feel good to rhetorically slap her about anymore. She was impenetrable, and it was frustrating. I could see she was equally frustrated. We were at an impasse.

"Dean, honey, I have to do this!" she burst out. "I don't want to ruin us; please, honey, I'll do everything and anything to not let that happen. I promise you I will not become attached to him, like you might be imagining, and I'll do everything in my power when it's over to get us back - or maybe forward - to what we always had, and more."

What if it's not enough to actually get us back there?" I asked simply.

She sobbed but caught herself. "It has to be possible. I couldn't live without you, and I couldn't live without your love. I promise, I'll do anything in my power to help you... afterwards, and I'll prove my undying love for you. I'll do anything to take away your pain!"

"Anything, except call it off." I said. I stood and walked upstairs.

We discussed our dilemma every night that week. I heard very little from Steve. He seemed to be laying low in hopes that my wife could handle me. I must say our conversations were a mixed bag, but the one constant was that we made no headway. She'd worn me down a little with all the love and kumbaya shit, but I remained skeptical. I couldn't get over the fact that this felt premeditated - and not by Ashley and Em, but by Ashley and Steve. They'd poisoned the well. It was that they were in this together, I'd finally realized. That changed the dynamic. They - both of them - were just being selfish. I decided to use the emotion to my advantage that night.

"Dean, look at me," she began, "I love you. Do you believe that?"

I nodded slowly, and then went to say something, but she stopped me.

"I know you love me," she continued. "I do not love Steve the way I love you. I do love him as a friend, but I will never have the feelings for him that I do for you, my husband. I have to do this. I promised. I loved her too, damn it. Just like both of you. I won't be able to live with myself if I renege on this oath. It means so very much to me. Even knowing how I'm hurting you, and maybe jeopardizing our marriage, I cannot back out. Further, in hopes that my honesty counts for something here, I plan to complete the task exactly in the spirit of how it was intended. The first time will be for Emily. I'll do my best to love on him, take away his pain and suffering, because that's exactly what she'd want. That was the entire point of the pledge."

Tears came to my eyes, realizing she wasn't taking no for an answer anymore. When she noticed, Ash came and sat almost on my lap and held my hand in both of hers.

"We realized what we were doing, and what we were asking, when we wrote it. Nothing was taken lightly, taken for granted or left out. We weren't writing it as some giddy high schoolers."

"Yes you fucking were, Ashley," I sighed. "You didn't actually want me to pay attention and care back then. You knew I'd push back if I did, and you knew you wouldn't be able to justify something so extreme in the plain light of day."

She just ignored my comment and ploughed on.

"The second time is for you." She stated as lovingly as she could. "Depending on who this happened to, we agreed it should be for the opposite spouse. That's because we realized right away, that we'd be asking an awful lot of that person. The second time is for them - in this case for you - because you're giving up the most. You're making the ultimate sacrifice for the person you lost, and for the others you didn't. You get nothing out of it, except grief."

As she stopped to take a breath, I jumped in. "This is insanity. I've known you too long to think you even believe what you're saying. I suppose the last two times are for you and fucking Steve-O? Except it won't only be two more times in the sack, but a bunch of post orgasmic talk about how to get hubby back on board... to make him forgive and forget, or just accept it."

"Won't you listen?" she pleaded. "Won't you let me show you how much we thought about this? How we considered every angle?"

"No," I said. "I won't. And here's one more thing that you'll never understand: Steve knows it too. He's just playing along because he stands to gain. He does not respect this, Ashley. I told you: he was the one who wanted to actually confront you two about this stuff, pay real attention to it, and engage with all the gory details. And, again, I am so tired of repeating myself: you and Emily knew that that would be bad for your bender, so you played the 'upset wives' card. Fuck me, it made me seem like the smart one when I told him to just let it go, smile, and nod. Fuck. Me.

"Now," I continued, "he's playing up to it. I could just say 'we'll see' and leave it there, but if I do and it doesn't work out like you say, everyone loses, except Steve, of course. He'll lay there in bed with you pretending to plan out how to make ole' Dean feel better. You won't even consider that all that is happening is still both of you together, against me, conspiring how to bring me back into the fold.

"Then," I took a deep breath. "When your plans don't work, like I'm telling you now that they won't, he'll change his tune. Dean's intractable. Dean's a fucking baby, fucking pussy. I never saw this side of Dean. I thought he was more mature than that. And finally Ashley, he'll say, 'I guess Dean never really loved you at all. Or his Mount Everest pride and ego won't let him. I never thought I'd say this Ash, but you should dump the loser. I know I'm finished with him.'"

We were both in tears. I barely had the strength to actually cry. They just welled up, stung, and then dripped out.

"Dean," She wasn't going to let go. "First things first and I'll say it again: I'm not in love, nor will I ever be, with Steve. That's why we made the switch in college. There was sex, but no spark. I envision my upcoming time with him as cathartic, antiseptic, and honestly, mostly talking. Not anything like what we have. I don't even think intimacy is the right word. Release is probably a better way to look at it.

"Second, I may feel some guilt, or he may. It's more likely that he will. He loves you Dean, like a brother. If either of us does, it will be up to the others to help remove that guilt, just like it will my job and Steve's to remove your pain. And that's what we're committed to doing. Of course you'll have to open up and let us in. Steve and I will never be together like that again after our fourth time. But yes, I may talk to him for support, so I can better help you. When you're just plain angry I'll give you space if that happens, not smother you. I won't get angry with you, out of fear. It will be like the pledge you copied for me says. If I do feel fear or anger, I'll take it out on Steve so he can help give me ideas of how to help you.

"The rest unfortunately falls on you, Dean. You're right about that," she said more seriously, squeezing my hand. "Your fingerprint is on that oath as well. You have to find a way to make it about honoring our deceased friend's wishes. You will have to find a way past any hurt feelings or hurt pride. We'll help you in any and every way we can. In the end, it will be on you, to give this to Em, fully. I promise this: I will not turn against you. If you yell at me, if you treat me poorly or call me names, or say unkind and unloving things that stem from your hurt I certainly will not go running to Steve.

She had to take a breath and I think she wanted me to consider all she'd said.

"Don't you see though Ash?" I cut her off. "All of this is unacceptable or unjustified to me. I'm tired and more emotionally drained than since my parents passed. I can only say I'm sure you believe everything you're saying, but, for the last time, I do not."

"Honey, I know you'll do the right thing," she said, sadly. "I know the strong man you are and I know you'll think it through and resolve it. I promise you, with all my heart, on our daughter's life and on Emily's memory; we'll be okay. I will take your pain away, no matter what it takes. I would never intentionally hurt you."

"You already are, Ash," I said shaking my head. "And you don't even see it."

The next night, Ashley announced that the first time would be Saturday night of the current week. I wasn't ready for that at all.

"I spoke to Steve about our conversation last night, and we decided to move the timetable forward, and our thinking was the sooner we get started the sooner it will be done, so you can start healing instead of feeling like shit all the time, and worrying."

I didn't respond positively, at least not how she expected. "Sure," I said defeated. "You and him again."

I made the air quotes again and walked away. Ashley was in for a rude awakening, when she found out the hard way, that she hadn't taken any of my feelings or words into account, and I doubted she would when it was over.

Ashley wanted to mess around in bed that night. I figured 'what the hell.' But even as we started with foreplay, both of us could tell the other wasn't really into it. Our intimacy was already on life support and she hadn't even gone to him yet. The same thing happened on Wednesday, and we both rolled over facing our side of the bed without as much as a 'good night.'

Saturday, I went to an afternoon movie. I hadn't done that in probably a decade. I couldn't be around her while she was getting ready for her big night.

To my surprise, when I got home, Ashley was sitting in the living room. No make-up, a pair of sweat pants, and our college sweatshirt. Immediately, I thought she may have called it off.

She came up to me, said nothing but held me tightly. I knew then she didn't. We just swayed back and forth. I think she was feeling the same as me. Like this may be our last time like this.

"I love you, mister," she tried to say convincingly, but didn't, while looking into my eyes. "I'll always love you no matter what. Don't you dare forget that. I'll be home fairly early. If you don't want to wait up though, I'll understand."

With that, she slowly walked out the door, never once looking back.

At ten, I got a text. I expected it to be my wife, maybe checking on me. It was from Steve.

"Hey Dean, Ashley will be home soon. Listen, this was really hard for her. Nothing much happened. Please, for me, for yourself, and especially for her, reclaim your wife when she gets home. She needs you."

Fucking prick. How stupid was he, or was he doing this on purpose?

"Yeah. Sure. I'll bet you'd love me getting sloppy seconds. Won't happen. Fuck off [friend]"

He'd know what the brackets meant. We'd do that when passing possible player's names back and forth for our fantasy football teams. The brackets meant we were unsure.

"Shit, grow up Dean. This isn't only about you."

Ashley came in the door, pep in her step, and came up to give me a kiss, pretending 'nothing significant' had happened. I turned and gave her my cheek. She seemed surprised for some reason. Then I think she either realized or saw my expression, that now I saw her as damaged goods, or at least differently. She turned and fled to our room.

"Are you coming to bed?" she asked in a sweet but fake voice, coming downstairs a half hour later.

"Yes, but not now. Goodnight," I answered warily.

"I know you don't want to reclaim me tonight, but I would like to at least cuddle and fall asleep with you."

The gall of this fucking woman! This was not my Ashley, in more ways than one. She didn't know what 'reclaim' meant, before Steve told her, I couldn't help another dig. I was hurting badly.

"So Steve called you as soon as we stopped texting? What? Get your stories straight? Get old Dean back in the fold? Conspiring with your lover against me, behind my back, the same night you've been together, isn't really helping your position here, Ash. We've been over this. Besides, I've moved most of my stuff to the guest room."

She still didn't quite get it, since there wasn't anything in there but a run-down single bed. She turned and went upstairs, as if not believing me. I guess trust was a two-way street after all. When she came back into the living room, she looked sullen, and hurt.

"You're going to sleep on an air mattress? You know what that will do to your back? Just come to bed, Dean. I understand if you need the space, and I won't pressure you. There's no need for this. And what you're calling conspiracy, I call two friends discussing how to help you."

Ashley was a smart woman, but not nearly smart enough. We'd been together a long time. I wasn't buying her conniving bullshit. Plus she'd just confirmed what I'd predicted the other night. What I 'called' something meant less than nothing anymore.

"I'm not sleeping there for space, and you know that. I just don't want to be around you, Ash. I'm pissed and hurting because of what the two of you are doing; what you did tonight and... what you plan to do. I don't want to say or do something I'll regret later, if there's even a little chance for us. You promised, you'd understand, and let me be. Isn't it about time you abided by one of your promises, at least, just by accident? I won't need your help at least until it's over."

Ashley looked horrified. "What do you mean? A chance? Oh, baby..." she left it hanging and came to me. I put my hands up in front of my chest, and she stopped halfway.

Her sadness was close to overtaking her. "Dean, nothing's over," she claimed very softly. "Nothing's ending. I love you. We're keeping an oath and we're helping a friend, that's all. Yes, he did tell me. It wasn't a call. I was still there... in the shower. He told me when I came out... dressed. He just wanted to say his original idea was probably not as good as he thought. He said you might be having some... uh, guy issues."

That really set me off, and I screamed at her like never before. "Yeah, I'm sure. Fuck you two. What kind of man sends his former best friend's wife home freshly fucked, and wants him to take the sloppy leftovers, unless he's the one with the 'man' issues? That's pretty fucking low Ashley, and I would have thought you knew better - knew me better after all these years. I'm on the outside looking in. All of your promises to 'love the pain right out of me' later are a crock of shit. You're with him. I don't think you're going to be able to salve my feelings, or fix this. I know for sure he won't."

"I didn't have intercourse with him!" She didn't scream it, although she was loud. It just fell out of her mouth. "I just..." She stopped dead. "We didn't have intercourse." I shook my head.

Ashley had more to say, and so did I, even though I wanted to wait until the next day. But she knew after twenty-three years when the horse had been beaten, so she slowly turned and headed up to bed. Through her tears, I heard, "I love you, Dean."

"Right now," I said softly, "I can't even imagine how to respond to that."

Sunday was the worst day I can ever recall with Ashley. We avoided each other like the plague. I could have taken some pride in predicting the outcome, but it was just too sad. If she had thought about it, she'd have seen how wrong she'd been. I guess in her determination, she felt she could focus on me afterwards. Fuck that.

Monday I went to work early and stayed late. That set the tone for the rest of the week. I don't think I spoke even five full sentences to my wife since her first time with Steve. Friday, I was invited out after work with the guys; something I rarely did - because I usually wanted to be with my wife. Not that night.

Saturday I left a note that I was going golfing, and if she and Steve were still on, I'd appreciate it if she went to see him early, so I didn't have to see her when I got home. She didn't answer, but I knew her car would be gone. It was. I turned in early. All my worries and apprehension were starting to turn to a raging hot anger, - predicted in advance, I was sure, by her 'mathemagical' plan

When I came downstairs Sunday morning, Ashley was at the table drinking her coffee. She looked as bad as I felt.

"Can we talk, Dean?" she asked meekly.

I poured a cup and sat down across from her. I couldn't even look at her, but nodded.

"Steve says..." I cut her off immediately.

"I don't want to hear a fucking word about Steve!" I snarled through gritted teeth.

"Stop!" she screamed right back, "I need to talk to you. I'm not talking about him, like you think. Can you just listen to me, please?"

I drank my coffee and leaned back, giving her the floor.

"He asked," she began cautiously, "how things were on the home front. When I told him, he said that's what he figured. We talked a long time. He told me he's extremely worried about us. Steve made some suggestions, and asked me to talk to you about them, see what you thought, and go from there. He said we need to do something before... before it's the end of ussssss."

Ashley broke down sobbing. I hated what she was doing to us, but I still loved her. My abiding, cemented belief that she was completely insane had me swinging wildly between outrage and pity all the time. I came around her side, and held her until she started sniffling, getting herself together. I brought a box of tissue, and beckoned for her to continue.

"He said," she went on, "some men do things like run off. Get a new cell number and won't speak to the wife ever again. Turn their backs completely on their families because the hurt and pain are too much. Is that how you're feeling, Dean?"

"I've told you," I said, shrugging, "both of you over and over, how I felt from the beginning. Neither of you listened to me. Here we are, the morning after the second time. Some of my suspicions have already come to fruition. I can't see myself ever letting either of you, trying to help me get over this thing. Right now, I don't even want to get over it. Since last night was supposed to be 'for me' I laid in bed and thought about going out to a club and trying to pick up a hot woman, and fucking her in our bed. I can't even think straight anymore.

"The vision that's in your head, it isn't going to happen like you want. I'm not going to sit down with you and that fucker when you're done and talk it all out. You'll start out frustrated, he'll give you shit ideas that don't work. Your frustration will turn to anger and then desperation. And he'll be right there to console you. You'll start to believe that I don't love you enough, or, Emily, and that will be that."

I had to stop for a moment. Tunnel vision was starting in the corners of my eyes, so I went to the bathroom and took my meds, and then washed my face. When I came back, Ashley looked even worse after digesting my words.

"Ash," I said breaking the silence, "I don't know what else to say. I don't think there is anything. You know where I stand. Do what you're going to do. It's already been twice... so."

"I know. I get it." She said defeated. "That's what Steve said. He told me we made a big mistake discussing it among ourselves before talking to you. He doesn't want us to split up."

"Yeah, that makes him seem like such a good guy, doesn't it?" I said, my words dripping with sarcasm.

"Dean," she said it a bit strained, and I braced for her big finish. "We talked about it and decided to spend next weekend together. He's very worried about us, but also knows I won't quit halfway through. I'm leaving Friday night and will be home Sunday afternoon. Before you start yelling, we decided we needed to get this over with for everyone's sake - before it's too late. We're combining the third and fourth times. "

"Uh huh." I stated sarcastically. We were back to square one.

"Honey, please," she begged. "We're trying to make this easier on you. I doubt there will be much sex. We spent most of our time talking about Emily and about our relationship."

"Was that before you two did it, or is that the pillow talk afterwards?" A week or two ago, I would've felt bad for being so mean after 'Emily' had just passed her lips, but things had changed. Emily was a weapon, now. Whoever spoke her name was breaking any and all ceasefires. I left the room before she could run.

Later, when I came back in, she started up, and I stopped her.

"Ashley, this conversation isn't getting us anywhere. Just go be with him. I can't stop you anyway. Just go. I'm sure if it's going to be the weekend, then it will be more than just the two times. Go have your fun, but know this: it's going to take me a long time to 'get over it' as you say. I'm not even sure I can get over it. I see things differently now, and that's on the two of you. Don't be surprised if the final result isn't what you hoped for."

"Of course, it's going to only the two times!" she half screamed. "Why don't you trust me anymore? Are you trying to drive me to him, for god's sake?"

She must have seen my look change, as she realized that didn't come out right. She came to me and held my face between her hands.

"This is it. The last time, and then it's over. I come home and we put our lives back together, okay? I know you're hurting. I... both of us, Steve and I are hurting for you and with you."

She was delusional, but I was talked out.

Ashley tried for the rest of the week, I'll give her that. Unlike the week between the first and second times, she started a conversation every night when I came home. Two nights, I stopped at a bar for a drink, and the one became a few. She waited up. Unfortunately, the words were just regurgitated from previous conversations, and I felt the attentiveness was faked. Maybe, she thought, if she just kept hammering away her points, I'd cave in. She was wrong. I'd had the divorce papers drawn up. I'd taken some stuff I'd needed for vacation.

And vacation was how I saw it, because I was still no closer to a decision about how I would either deal with this or end it. I just took the money for our upcoming combined vacation to Grand Teton National Park this year - we certainly wouldn't need it for that purpose anymore - and paid down my credit card to near zero. I had a fifteen thousand dollar limit, and had no intention of spending more than I needed. But I would do some backpacking in the Ozarks, some fly fishing too, and I'd be alone.

Steve took the same approach: silence. I think he knew better. Ashley looked haggard as she prepared to leave for her weekend. There was a period of silence. I knew that I should savor it, even though it was thick and ugly. She did break it right before she was ready to leave.

She came up to me, and held me tightly. "I'll be back on Sunday night, and ready to help us to heal from this. I never expected to hurt you this badly. I want you to know, in my heart, that that was never my aim. I tried everything to guide all of us past it, around it, as much as I could. It will just be the two times, as it says in the oath. That will be four times - still one less than before we were married. Starting the minute I get home, I'll prove it. I won't push you, just love you. We'll talk about anything you want, when you're ready. I love you Dean, and I always will."

She kissed me, and I allowed that too. I guess I wasn't ready to give up on the woman I'd loved for so long, but maybe it was more that I was afraid it might be the last time we ever shared a kiss. She took her overnight bag, and blew me a kiss from the driveway. The only thing missing from her was 'sorry.'

I closed the front door, slid to the floor right there, and cried for half an hour. I bawled like the day after my parent's funeral. When I finished, I understood that I'd done it for my own sanity, just in case we were finished. What she'd just inadvertently admitted to, also left me feeling hopeless, yet resolved. I had to grieve for the fact that I was most likely going to be truly alone again.

It's pretty hard to think about damaged marriages and relationships when the fish are biting. I'd found a fairly secluded spot on the river, about two and a half feet deep in places, on a steady slope from the shore. I caught mostly bass, but a few bullnose trout. The problem was that there were both size restrictions and catch limits. I'd been told all about them when I'd bought my fishing license, and I'd exceeded the in the first twenty minutes of the early dawn hours. Now it truly was just catch and release.

I hadn't heard from Ashley, since Sunday, and it was now Tuesday. I was happy at least, that she was finally respecting one of my wishes. After just a few days on my own, I'd come to a conclusion. After a week or so, I'd go home, pretending to give them a very slim chance to come clean. In the meantime, I'd turn in my notice, clear out my fair share of the money and my 401K.

I'd known of four times Ashley was with him, before we got married. She always said it was four. That fifth time she mistakenly mentioned, on the way out the door, had to have been the night of the bachelor party. I doubted she'd even realized she'd said it. So there was little chance that she'd confess it. I'd leave that as my mic drop on the way out the door.

Before leaving Saturday morning, I'd left Ashley a note on top of a certain page from her scrapbook of promises. The one I'd shared with her that very first night I'd been blindsided. It was torn into little pieces and neatly stacked, with my note placed on it. I also burned that fucking scrapbook. I did not leave my ring. It was mine, and for whatever reason, I didn't wish to part with it. The note said:

Ashley,

We've said a lot of things to each other. I never wanted to hurt you, ever. I never thought you, or Steve for that matter, could hurt me like you have, ever. I'll be gone for a while. I took our vacation money. I don't need or want your help - putting me back together -and certainly not Steve's. He was right. That friendship has sailed. If this all sounds too final, or if you can't 'get over' what I'm doing, then just text me, "We're done." If by some chance you still want me to come back and try to put our lives back together, then I only have these few asks. Put this torn page back together. Separately write down all the promises you made on it, and then broke. Finally, write down and sign how you're going to repair all those broken promises. When I return, we'll talk about them, one at a time, and very specifically. Just so we're clear, being around Steve, ever again, without me right there with you, is a deal breaker for us. So if you decide to see him while I'm gone, even for coffee, don't bother with the paper or the promises. It won't matter past that. Hopeful we might find a way forward,

Dean.

I had my SUV packed up. My feet were thoroughly dry and my sneakers back on. I was having fish for dinner tonight, and if there were any other friendly campers nearby, so were they. I was more resolved in my approach to Ashley and Steve than since this whole mess started. I'd take the rest of the week, see if I still felt resolved and relieved, and then go home to see if there was a tiny chance of salvaging things. That was, unless she texted me "We're done."

Ashley had called me Saturday morning, just before I'd written the note. I hadn't answered, and she'd texted, asking me to call. She'd wanted to make sure I was okay. Of course she'd professed her love, as she always did. I'd texted her I was as good as could be expected, and to leave me alone and go be with Steve. I'd finished the text by saying that I didn't want the constant reminder, and I'd see her Sunday.

My phone started going off Sunday afternoon, as expected. Ashley was worried about my leaving. She didn't mention the note. She literally begged me to call. I didn't, but sent a text, just so I could have some peace. I probably should have turned off the damned phone. I told her, not asked, what part of 'leave me alone' she didn't understand.

The fourth message that night was different. She'd wanted to see if I'd really taken our vacation money, and, while she'd rummaged through our home office, had found the divorce papers in my desk drawer. I fleetingly wondered if Steve was over there, 'consoling' her. Her tone, in the text, was still frantic, but mixed with desperation and a touch of anger. That spoke volumes to me.

Finally, when I got to my hotel for the night, I texted her:

"Another promise broken, right Ash? 'Oh, I'll give you all the space you need.' Isn't that what you said?"

There weren't any more calls or texts that night or Monday.

Then there were Steve's texts from Monday. "Call me NOW"

"What do you want Steve? Is Ashley there with you? Have you been spending the nights at my house, comforting her? Tell me the truth, old buddy."

The next three were sent separately.

"You're a damned fool."

"She's a mess. Don't you care about her? You need to get home so we can fix this."

"I don't care if we remain friends, but you have a family, and a wife who loves you."

I thought for a minute. "But inwardly, you'd prefer that I didn't come back, right Steve-O?"

That was our last communication. There was not a doubt in my mind about how he wanted all of this to shake out. The longer I sulked, the more time he had to convince her I was a cry-baby wimp, and a lost cause. And he would. He was the lawyer. He'd given her exactly what she'd wanted and needed. He'd humored her insanity. That, he'd learned from me. Fuck. Me.

I spoke to Destiny Tuesday morning before heading to the river. It turned out that Haley was with her. I told her I was on a solo vacation, and that her mom and I were having some problems, in case they talked. We all said our heart-felt 'love you's' and then I was off.

The scenery was awe-inspiring. The green on the mountains was the greenest thing I'd ever seen. I half-wondered why we'd always made such a big deal about going so far west on vacation with all this beauty almost in our backyard. Coming down the seven-percent grade, and around a bend, the river I'd earlier fished came into view, but far below the horizon. It was there, across my windshield, at a forty-five degree angle, as the curve continued.

 I sensed my tunnel vision coming on. It was only the second time, since I was a kid. The other had been that talk with my wife. I'd made a mistake by looking at the river so long, and not my points of reference, like the road. Vertigo was setting in. As my vision narrowed, everything in front of me began to blur. Shit, I'd left my meds in my toiletry bag, in my suitcase. This wasn't good. Then it happened. Everything went completely blurry, and I tried anything I could to make it stop. It never dawned on me to press the brake. My hair felt like it was standing straight up, and I had a floating feeling in my stomach, like you get on the first hill of a roller coaster.

"My name is Dean. Dean Browning, and my wife is Ashley," I began repeating, and I'm not sure why.

Suddenly, there was a blinding light directly in front of me and through the light came...

"Emily?" I think I said out loud.

She was there. Her face looked radiant as she smiled her best smile. She reached out to me, both hands upturned and arms fully extended. I let go of the wheel without hesitation. I could sense what she wanted. I felt her pull me towards her with a strength I couldn't imagine. Still, as quickly as my torso moved, my bottom half seemed to be stuck. Finally, like a rubber-band, I popped through. Through what, though? It was just blinding light.

The next thing I saw was serene. I was standing next to Emily, her hand holding mine tightly. We were on a flat surface, at the edge of a cliff. The clouds were below us, by quite a ways, and the sun was setting into them. I watched the awesome beauty for a moment.

Em squeezed my hand and I looked at her. She nodded slightly for me to look over the edge. Carefully, I shimmied up to it, and looked over. Emily squeezed again. Oh! There, just below us, was my living room. It felt like my vantage point was on my own ceiling. Ashley sat on the sofa, sobbing so hard that it racked her body continuously. Steve held her tightly to his chest. On the coffee table was the torn promise, all carefully taped back together. I wondered what had happened. I hadn't seen them in such anguish since Em...

... squeezed my hand again. "Yes," she said, though her lips never moved. I understood instantly. As I watched in wonderment, it felt as though I could sense something else - something untoward and foreign to me.

"Yes, Dean. You can feel and sense their thoughts when they are thinking of you." She squeezed again. Her mouth remained closed, so she was talking to me in my thoughts.

I sensed that the couple had not engaged in any sex on their weekend together, due to Ashley's guilt. My next thought - completely devoid of malice - was wondering if they'd ever be able to 'get over me' enough to do so in the future, or remain friends, let alone lovers.

Steve felt... a deep remorse. I tried to hone in... remorse for his... selfish and self-centered actions. And there was something else. I squinted. He felt hope. Hope? I squinted again. Yes, it was hope. He was hopeful that he'd be consoling Ashley the rest of her days, and that eventually, she'd come to love him.

Ashley's gut-wrenching cries made me focus on her. Her sadness was a dark, bottomless ocean. Her guilt was deeper and darker still. She felt... completely responsible. The guilt was consuming her from the inside out. She was carrying the entire burden for her loss. My heart went out to her, and oddly, I thought I should be crying for her.

Squeeze. "Negative feelings and emotions don't exist in this realm," her voice rang in my head, "only where they are. It will be up to them to figure things out."

I watched, my eyes glued to the scene. I wanted to reach out.

Squeeze. "You can help her. We both can, once you get used to this realm. It's best in their sleep."

"How long...?" I asked, and my mouth didn't move either. Her answer came instantly - almost faster than that.

"Time, as you knew it, doesn't exist here. I can't answer that in a way you'll understand. Not long."

Emily squeezed again, and we turned away from the cliff's edge. There, in the light, were my parents - my mother, with the same radiant smile as Emily, and - my father with that look he always gave when he was proudest of me.

We walked together, into the light, the four of us. I no longer felt alone.