Black to White

It was my first dress like this - my first really ladylike black dress. I'd had dresses before, as a kid, but not like this one. They were school, for playing, for church, for good times and for less good ones.

This one was for mourning.

I was 12 years old and my best friend's mother had just died.

As my parents and I and about 50 other people stood at the graveside, I was ashamed that what I remembered most about Devon's mom was her always-welcoming smile and the ever-present smell of cookies in her house.

Devon was sobbing and her father looked haggard, as if all the weight in the world had just fallen on him, and all I could think about were Jessica's cookies. A shrink might talk about associative memory or something. To me, at 12, it was something to cling to, something to take my mind off what lay inside that too-shiny box in front of us. It was hard to believe that the friendly, gracious, beautiful Jessica was inside that thing.

Devon and I had been best friends since just about forever, like sisters without the inherent nasty sisterly competitiveness. We'd spent a lot of time at each other's houses. Well, probably more at her place - her dad was rich and the place was a lot bigger, with an indoor pool, even.

And puppies. Devon always had a dog or three and dog privileges were one of the serious perks of visiting.

But Devon was never spoiled, never played rich-bitch at school. In that respect, I think she took after her mom.

Jessica Moir had been just about the nicest woman I'd ever met. She listened patiently to the two of us spouting off like we were old enough to know anything and actually took the time to talk and discuss things with us as if we were adults. She always had time, always had a kind word.

So, Devon had had a pretty good grounding in nice. And she could have gone to some thin-lipped prep school in Boston or Switzerland or something, but there she was on the bus with us every morning, dressed like everybody else, carrying a packed lunch like everyone else.

Then a holidaying Jessica got over-confident at Jaws Beach in Hawaii and a mountainous wave mugged her, enfolded her into a seething wall of jealous green water and spat her out a minute later, a large surf-board dent over one temple. Paul helped carry her body out of the water.

Devon told me she'd never heard him weep, had never heard him complain. Some men would have grown more distant from their daughter. Some might have become overly protective. Not Paul Moir. He carried on with loving, solid parenting as if Jessica had just gone away on a business trip and was expected back next week. There was a large, professionally-taken photograph of the two of them over the main fireplace and he spent a lot of time sitting in his easy chair, a drink in his hand, just looking at it. There was a smaller picture by Paul's bed, too, a boudoir photo of Jessica wearing what I can now see as a fairly chaste blue negligée. We could see that her smile in that one was very different from the one over the mantelpiece, but it was years before we understood why.

And Paul never raised his voice to anyone that I ever heard. One time, I was there when Devon did something really, really stupid; it doesn't matter what now after all these years. Paul just looked at her and said mildly, "Devon, I don't think your Mom would have liked that." Those few soft words hit her like a solid blow, a physical slap. Her face melted, collapsed in tears before he pulled her in for a long, comforting, forgiving hug. He never mentioned it again and she never did it again, either.

He was a very patient man, too, and as hospitable as Jessica had been. There were endless pool parties and sleep-overs. Looking back, how any normal man could handle being in the house with a dozen perpetually-giggling teenage girls is beyond me, but he was always there, always friendly, always keeping us within the lines without ever making us resent them. When we got old enough for boys and booze to enter the equation, a patient, smiling Paul seemed to be everywhere in the house at once, collecting car keys at the door and somehow keeping unwanted pregnancies off the menu. The other parents knew their girls would be safe at Devon's.

So.

So, when a heart attack took my father a few years later, Devon and I had adolescent hopes...

But that only happens in Hollywood and Mom married Jimmy two years later. Jimmy was a nice man and treated me well, doing his best to be the male parental unit in the house without trying to be Dad. After some initial adolescent resentment, I started learning from him and grew to like him, even respect him. It worked out. When he got promoted at work, he and Mom moved across the country. I'd already been accepted for nursing school in another city in the other direction and that was the end of my time as a live-in. Jimmy's a good guy and has done well for Mom. We still talk when I call home, hug when I visit.

+

Paul had never remarried. Devon told me once that he'd never even dated. I thought that so sad.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I dunno. I've told him that I wouldn't be mad, that Mom wouldn't him want him to be lonely for the rest of his life, but he won't even discuss it."

"He must've loved her very much."

"Yeah," she said, almost in a whisper.

I wondered about it. Yes, Jessica's death had been a tragedy for him and for Devon, but he wasn't the first man to lose a wife. How long was he going to mourn, cut himself off from the world?

It wasn't as if he couldn't have found somebody. The man had charm, dressed well and heaven knows he was handsome enough. True, his forehead was a little higher than it once was, but he hadn't quietly surrendered to middle age. His mornings when I visited were early ones, lap after lap after relentless lap in the pool. Devon and I swam, too, but Paul was a machine. About a mile every morning, he once told me, a mile and a half on good days.

I believed him.

+

As we became adults and Paul's supervision became less necessary, we were left more to ourselves. If not actually present, Paul was always around though. He was an available resource, but never a lurking presence or overt chaperone; we cherished his trust. The sleep-overs became less frequent, but the pool parties endured, especially on special holidays. It was a chance to get the old crowd together.

And now it was February and who can pass up Valentine's Day? The Saturday before the 14th of the month became reserved for Devon's Legendary St. Valentine's Day Saturday Bash. Couples could have the Day to themselves, but the Saturday before was a crowd event.

Devon had of course sent me an invitation and I showed up the day before to help prepare for the party. I'd been there often enough that it was almost like coming home. I tipped the Uber driver with an unreportable bill, carried my suitcase to the front door and rang the bell. Paul's face broke into a broad welcoming smile when he opened the door.

"Samantha!" he said brightly and pulled me in for a deep hug. I let myself melt into the hug -- and then, to my surprise, into him. It had started out like hundreds of similar hugs over the years, a greeting between old friends, but I very suddenly became aware of the solid chest against my cheek, of the heartbeat under my pressed ear and of the strength of the arms around my shoulders. He suddenly smelled like Paul, too, his own special masculine aroma.

He let go, picked up my bag to take it to my room. I just stood there, staring at him. I remember having to tell myself to breathe as I bent to exchange greetings with a small carpet of ecstatic, welcoming spaniels.

"Devon," he called back into the house. "Your sister's here!"

I heard a squeal from upstairs and caught a wink from Paul.

"Nice to have you here, Sam," he said.

Devon flew by him on the stairs and launched herself into my arms. I was lost in BFF catch-up for the rest of the afternoon.

Paul BBQ'd his special ribs that night and we had a pleasant evening, just the three of us talking. I didn't mention Jessica and neither did they.

It was fun, a good time, but my dreams that night were confusing.

+

There wasn't a lot of setup required (pool party, remember?) but there was a volleyball net to raise, stacks of towels to lay out and the bar by the pool to be restocked -- routine stuff, undemanding, but it gave Devon and me more time to talk.

People didn't start arriving until early afternoon. Paul was there to greet them, but always disappeared once Devon and I showed up to lead them to the pool.

.

The setting...

Be amazed.

There was a 25-yard pool suitable for Paul's endless lengths and a smaller, irregular-shaped soaking pool beside it. The room was set out with warm-colored timber -- walls, beams and ceiling, rising from maybe 10 feet on one side up to maybe twice that on the other. It was a warm, golden place and, except for the snowdrifts built up against the outside windows, it was almost possible to believe that it was summertime. Two windows looked down from inside the house, one from the family room upstairs and one from the master bedroom beside it.

A net had been stretched from side to side in the shallow end for the always-hotly-contested volleyball game. Water volleyball, you ask? It's a thing; you can look it up. Playing volleyball waist-deep in water is a very different experience. Sprinting to reach a fast-moving ball isn't possible and it helps to have a lot of people. Diving for the ball is possible, but it takes a long time to get up and teammates have to cover the gap. It's different, but a lot of fun.

The usual crowd gradually drifted in. It was the same twenty or thirty people every year; some of us friends as far back as grade school. Oh, there'd be the odd new boyfriend or girlfriend, but it was always the same core crew.

My last boyfriend and I had split up when he'd enlisted in the Coast Guard; Devon and I were just about the only single girls there. As much as the party theme was romance and couples, I found that I didn't mind being there solo. Jerry and I hadn't been all that solid anyway, mainly just the person sitting highest on each other's friends list.

As couples arrived, the fun slowly built. It was a time for greetings, for admiring new swimsuits, new tattoos -- and a couple of rings not present the last time we'd all been together. Deep down inside, every woman likes looking at diamond rings on other people's fingers. Everyone being of age, there was a self-serve bar and spirits went both down and up.

Before there were enough people to properly fill two volleyball teams, the usual chicken fight started -- boys standing in waist-deep water, girls on their shoulders. While the object was to unseat the riders, the boys weren't permitted to do anything but try to keep their balance. That left the 'fighting' to the women on their shoulders. Like that made a difference in ferocity...

There were ten people in the pool initially. Bruce and Daga were the reigning champions from pool parties going back three years. Not very surprisingly, the other four couples independently decided that the champs would be the centre of attention for the everyone else.

The four men surged forward, bringing their women into grasping range of Daga. She and Bruce were outnumbered, but Bruce could have played linebacker and Daga was built to scale. His arms clinging to her legs, he fought for balance as the other women shoved and yanked. Daga herself was hardly inactive; her pushes and lunges almost toppled a couple of girls off their 'mounts' and laughter grew from the sidelines.

It was, I suppose, inevitable that a bikini tie would fail. Looking back, the wonder is that it hadn't happened before. With a whoop of triumph, Daga's arm emerged above the mêlée, waving a bra. A slim hand reached for it, but a laughing Daga sent it sailing high out of reach to land in the deep end.

Amid the shrieks and laughter, Missy Carson's now-topless state didn't immediately register with Sam Tanaka, the boy holding her. Blushing wildly, Missy initially covered her breasts with her hands as Sam kept pushing into the fray. Eventually, she shrugged and dropped them to cover Sam's eyes. Puzzled, the boy backed away until Missy lifted her hands and he looked up.

From where I sat by the side of the pool, I could see the expression on Sam's face. He spun in the water as he looked for Missy's bra.

Missy gave up, leaned down and said something to him. The side-lines laughter was so loud that I couldn't hear, but I saw Sam nod grimly and wade back into battle. Missy was out for blood -- or, at least, Daga's own top.

It turns out that it's a lot harder to pull somebody off their boyfriend than it is to deliberately pull off their swimsuit. Within a minute, Daga's bra went flying out of the scrum, landing on the brick deck.

Keep in mind that Daga is one of those people whose poise would remain undented were they dropped stark-naked into the middle of the dance floor at the mayor's annual ball. I doubt she gave her bra a thought and it's possible that Bruce didn't even notice. Not that it really mattered, for the tall girl had shifted strategy herself and two more swimsuit tops soon went flying. The sound of laughter from both players and spectators was thunderous.

The game continued, but the ice had been broken. Some of the young women watching from the sidelines, accustomed to open-minded vacation beaches anyway, looked around, thought about it briefly and quietly removed their own tops.

I was considering it myself when I caught sight of Paul in his second-floor bedroom window overlooking the pool.

His face bore a wistful expression, an echo of earlier happiness, I suppose. There was a slight smile on his face, but I think it was more due to his pleasure at the sight of his pool being filled with happy people rather than seeing his daughter's friends topless. That would be so like Paul...

His eyes swept the pool, came to rest on me. For some reason, my hand fell away from my bikini ties and I turned my head to look instead in time to see Daga and Bruce triumph yet again. When I looked back at the window, Paul was gone and the curtains had been drawn.

I went looking for Devon. I wasn't the only one still fully dressed, but I was definitely in the minority. She still had her top on, too; maybe she thought it would be too weird to be topless in front of her own father.

"Why don't you invite your dad to join us?" I yelled to her over the shouts and laughter. "We all know each other, right? You know he'd be welcome. Everybody likes him."

She shook her head. "He wouldn't," she said. "He just wouldn't."

She looked at me, almost sadly for a second. "I already asked," she said.

I nodded, didn't push. I missed Jessica, too and she hadn't been my mother.

I found myself a drink and sat down to watch the crowd grow. Couples straggling in, eyes widening at the sight of so much cheerful bareness. Some of the newly-arriving girls decided to join in, some didn't. It was a good crowd and the laughter and openly admiring glances never crossed the line. So, yes to boobs, no to pervy stares. It was just relaxed, just... friendly. OK, friendly in a sexy way. I had no doubts that there would be some seriously bouncy mattresses once people got home, but I myself felt no unease. It was all easygoing, very pleasant.

I kept looking back up at the bedroom window, but Paul didn't appear again. My mind kept drifting back to the pensive expression on his face earlier. Such a nice guy, still alone after all these years.

When the party reached critical mass for volleyball, I for once wound up on the winning team. The only prize was first crack at the food when it was delivered, but I was still happy about it.

I won't say much more about the party. You've been to parties, I'm sure. It was a bunch of friends having a good time. In this case, it was scantily-clad girls, appreciative boys, a pool and what wasn't to like? We even survived the boys insisting on a cannonball competition.

It didn't start fading until nearly midnight and it was an hour after that before everyone had left.

.

Devon and I waved off the last of the guests. She sighed, leaned against the wall by the door.

"Wow," she said. "Long night."

"A good night," I said. "And a really good party, Devon. Thank you."

She grinned. "Yeah, but the cleanup..."

I cut her off. "Cleanup can wait. It's sleepy time for you and me."

Devon nodded, yawned. "Yeah, just let me turn off the sprinklers and lights."

Waiting for her, I started putting empties together, stacked some pizza boxes. It wasn't long before the pool area was quiet and dark. I could see the stars outside.

I also noticed that the bedroom light was still on.

"Is your dad still up?" I asked. "It's late."

"No," she said softly. "He's probably fallen asleep in front of the fireplace. He does that sometimes."

Sure enough, when we peeked into the living room, Paul was sound asleep in the big chair, dressed in a housecoat, his head down on one shoulder. The fire had almost died and the only sound was a soft snore.

"Should we wake him?" I whispered.

"No. He'll wake up eventually and put himself to bed." She took my hand and led me out of the room, turning down the overhead lights to just a dim glow as she went.

I got a happy Devon hug outside our bedroom doors.

"Thanks, Sam," she said. "It's so nice to have you here again."

"It's been fun, Devon."

I pulled back, looked at her. "About your dad..."

"No." She cut me off. "He does that all the time. Don't worry about it."

With that, she turned and went into her own room. The door closed without her looking back.

+

Half an hour later, I was still staring at the ceiling. The thought of Paul falling asleep night after night in front of Jessica's photo gnawed at me. Such a good man...

I decided to get a drink of water. I got up, pulled on a nightie and opened the door a crack. There was no light showing under Devon's door and the house was as still as could be.

In the kitchen, I got a glass and ran some water. I took a couple of sips, but realized I'd been more restless than thirsty. Leaving the glass in the sink, I started to return to my room, but stuck my head into the living room in passing.

The fire had long since died and Paul was still asleep in his chair. Devon had dimmed the lights, but it was hardly dark. As I entered the room I could see that Paul had shifted and that his housecoat had fallen open.

He must have been dreaming. Men, I knew, get erections during their sleep cycles. My textbooks had said that it's normal in all healthy men - 'nocturnal penile tumescence'. But this was the first time I'd seen one in real life.

Yes, OK, I'd certainly seen and professionally handled boyparts in nursing school. Of course I had, but believe me when I say that there's nothing very erotic about anybody's sexual bits in most situations requiring a nurse's presence.

Outside school?  you ask. I was how old?

Old enough, yes, but...

I don't really know why. It wasn't a big 'saving myself for my one true love' thing. I liked boys. I'd dated. I'd kissed, messed around - and l'd liked all of it. Heaven only knows my boyfriends had wanted to get my pants off, but none of them had ever struck that magic spark, pushed me from 'This is fun,'  to 'I need more!'  So, yes, there'd been sweet, good looking boys in my life, but still... boys.