My Hero

This story was to be part of Randi's water themed invitational, but due to a death in the family I had to put it on hold. By the time I came up for air, it was too late to finish it in time for the invitational. I've struggled with this story, and it's only been with the help of two special friends that helped me get this started again. My thanks to Girlinthemoon for her honest opinion and, as always, the editors who take the time to make my tangled words into such a wonderful story. Please enjoy your read.

*****

"Ladies and Gentleman, please fasten your seat belts. We have started our descent and will be landing at London Heathrow Airport in ten minutes."

I'd become a veteran of this particular trip and had already anticipated the announcement. I usually took the later flight, but Cheryl would be getting married today and that threw my usual plans. The woman sitting next to me was sticking her camera against the window taking aerial shots; I smiled and left her to it.

Closing my eyes for a few minutes helped the time go faster for some reason. It also brought back the reason I was doing this.

*******

Cheryl was smart, very smart. After all, she had to be since she had Professor at the beginning of her name; she even had a couple of Bachelor of something or others tucked in there as well. Yep, she was smart. She even gave me a list of advanced degrees in her chosen field. It was something I always found funny, to be honest; after all her field was Mathematics and yet it was always left to me to balance her checkbook every month.

As for me, the only word at the beginning of my name was Mister.

I found out later in life that wasn't enough, but I'm getting ahead of myself here. So, Cheryl got tenure, the youngest to ever do that and in record time, as well, and me? Well, I still held on tenaciously to the title of Mister. I heaped night classes onto my resume and became a graphic designer. The other important fact in my life was that because Cheryl wanted the security of tenure so much, she was willing to sacrifice as much as she dared to get it.

The time she was dedicating to this left me with time on my hands. Even my wife understood the term 'idle hands', so she suggested I find a hobby, just to keep me occupied, hence the night courses. When she finally got tenure we went out and celebrated, and we both figured out that was the night Libby was conceived. Cheryl was furious but she was also Catholic-minded about pregnancies, and I believe to this day that Cheryl's mindset was the only reason Libby came into this world and lodged herself firmly in my heart.

As soon as maternity leave was up, Cheryl was out of the house and back at work. I once again changed jobs so I could work from home and converted one of the spare rooms into my office and, yes, was a stay-at-home dad. I watched out for Libby as she crawled all over the house, peed on most things and tried to stick her nose and fingers into everything.

Just how the hell can children the age of dribble and gurgle manage to get themselves out of diapers that are almost nailed to their bodies? They do, and she did, all over the house. For some reason, she sure seemed to be marking her territory.

Over the years Cheryl's ambition grew, and at such a subtle pace I didn't even notice it until she had all her ducks in a row. Oh, she was patient and it took a while, but when she was ready, it was swift and very, very surgical.

*******

Libby was at her grandparents for the night and I was wondering if I was actually going to get lucky that night. That, in itself, would have been really lucky since it had been almost three months since Cheryl and I had been that intimate. She sat me down and word by word pulled our marriage down around my ankles.

Cheryl's ambition was now being held back; family wasn't in her plans even at the beginning, and judging by the amount of time she actually spent with her own daughter I would have agreed with her on that point. It was then she pulled out a brown envelope and asked me to read her proposal and get a lawyer. I was still reading it when I heard a movement by the door. When I looked over, my soon-to-be ex-wife was carrying a case out the front door.

She wanted nothing other than what she had already pulled out of the bank, which was everything, and that included Libby's small but steadily growing college fund. When I followed her to the door a man was standing outside, almost anticipating me following Cheryl. The man approached me asking if I was Martin Henderson. When I said yes, he then proceeded to hand me an envelope uttering the words out of boredom and yet still stripping me of everything.

I had been served.

That gave Cheryl the time she needed to get into her car and leave. Feeling I had to have some of my own vengeance that evening, I went to Cheryl's folks house and removed Libby from their care. I didn't need to ask if they knew, just the look in her father's eyes was enough for me. We still don't speak.

The lawyer she hired did his job well, and once again Cheryl got what she alone wanted, although I did spot her irritation when she was told that since I was getting custody of Libby, it was going to cost her in child support payment. In the end, even my lawyer told me it would be cheaper to settle. I couldn't think how it was cheaper when she walked away with every cent we placed in the bank.

I wasn't intent on knowing why, even though she went to great length to tell me: I was stifling her career and being married to nothing more than a graphic designer was like throwing an anchor overboard and waiting for it to catch on the sea bed.

She put down irreconcilable differences and I went with it thinking that protected Libby from all this. My folks stepped up to the plate and helped. When they mentioned Cheryl's folks, the look I gave them reminded them not to push their luck. Now, not tethered by a family, of course Cheryl put more hours into her job and that, in itself, got her noticed more by the dean.

My folks sat me down and asked for a clear-the-air talk. My reply centered on one thing: if they mentioned Cheryl's folks the air wouldn't remain clear for long. Once the rules were established we talked freely, and I once again knew why I loved my folks so much. Cheryl signed over her rights to the house, although I made sure the ink was dry on that agreement before I sold up, and Libby and I moved back in with my folks. I simply understood their reasoning: sometimes you have to take a step back, so you can move forward.

Cheryl had visitation rights, something she used sparingly, at best, and I suspected only when her own folks pressured her to since Libby told me that she was at grandma's house most of the time.

We moved back into my folks' house, and every day I watched the love they had for each other. I looked back at my life with Cheryl and wondered what the fuck happened. It took my dad sitting me down and giving me that, "What are you going to do now?" speech that made me realize that I had hit bottom. Cheryl had taken everything SHE wanted. It was clear to all of us that day that Libby really wasn't one of those things. I wondered how much all this was affecting an eight-year-old.

In effect, all I could do was hit life's reset button, and that's what I did. Well, my Dad and I got totally shit-faced first. Since I had no life other than with my own family, I also found that, since I could do the hours, time zones meant nothing to me and I was establishing a reputation from the East to the West coast. In the end my mom (bless her), practically ordered me out of the basement office and told me to get a real one and with staff to take the crap she had to put up with.

I found a space; Bennett's Funeral Directors was leasing a room. It was cheap because no one wanted it; I did. Since all my work was done over the phone or web, I didn't care where my office was. I even hired Mr. Bennett's daughter, Toni, to work an hour a day and all Saturday morning putting files away and making and answering calls, if needed. My only question during her interview was, "Could you make Navy coffee?" She sure passed that test.

Toni was also damn smart, and I encouraged that. We talked freely with each other and that's when she told me that, as her parents' only child, she would take over from her father. Toni didn't want that and, although I didn't encourage her, she did have a knack, not to mention a damn good eye, for design, so much so that I pulled her dad aside one afternoon while Toni was at school and showed him some of her work. He did no more than get up and leave. That's when my thoughts turned to regret rather than hope and wondered if I was going to be moving offices real soon.

A half hour later, Mr. Bennett came back and had his wife with him. He asked me to show his wife their daughter's work again; I was happy to. Both were waiting for their daughter when she returned from school. In effect they ambushed her, scolded her for not allowing them to see her work and then group-hugged her to death. By the end of that meeting, Toni's college major was changed to graphic design.

Feeling that my life had finally turned a corner, I actually sat back in my chair and smiled.

Then my cell rang.

*******

The dust had all settled on my office move when Cheryl told me she was taking up a new position and that it would look good on her resume at a later date. She was taking up a position at Oxford University, in England. Her goodbye to her daughter was a weekend with her at a spa. Libby told me when she got back that her mother spent more time on the phone than talking to her own daughter.

Just who was this person and when did she steal the body of the woman I fell in love with?

Eighteen months into her absence, she phoned me. Cheryl wanted to set up some sort of schedule so Libby could come and visit. I laughed and put the phone down. Knowing it was useless trying to enlist the help of her own folks, she rang mine. In the end I simply asked Libby what she wanted. She kept her thoughts to herself for three days, and then called a family meeting. For a, now, ten-year-old, she spoke so eloquently that I couldn't deny her even if I had wanted to.

So, for two years, Libby and I became frequent flyers. Most of the time Cheryl would collect her at Heathrow airport, I would spend a day or two in London sightseeing and then return home. On a few occasions I would have to hire a car, drive up to Oxford and drop her off at her rooms; it seems that's a posh English way of saying her office.

When Cheryl made the announcement that she was getting married, I tried ever so hard to work out if I was all that bothered. In the end, she had made her choices, just as Libby and I had made ours. I just wondered if the poor schmuck she was going to marry was another stepping stone in her career. What brought me up short was Cheryl wanting Libby at the wedding. When I asked my daughter if she wanted to go, she was really happy.

It seems she had met the schmuck and thought he was nice. Well, that was news to me: the her meeting the schmuck and not telling me part, that is.

*******

The landing and the engines in full reverse opened my eyes and brought me back to the present. I kept out of the way as the contents of the plane seemed to explode out of the door and into the terminal. Customs quickly noticed my lack of luggage and that made me an oddity that was far too tempting for them. They waved me over and asked why I didn't have any luggage. I had been pulled to one side over luggage before and came to the correct conclusion: people traveling light through an airport had suspected-drugs-trafficker signs pointed at them.

As I explained, I emptied my pockets onto the table between us. "This trip is going to be a killer, sir. My daughter is at her mother's wedding. I'm to pick her up after the party and we're back here to catch the overnight back to the States."

I then handed him my return ticket and that of my daughter. I just couldn't resist pulling a picture of her out of my wallet as he looked over the tickets. It still didn't stop him from passing it over the machine in front of him for a closer check. He had a smile as his screen finished putting what felt like my life history of travel in front of him, so I knew he believed me. I wished him well and joined the others from my plane, who had collected their luggage were now in the process of walking past me.

The drive up to Oxford was the quickest I've ever done; not one traffic jam or road works the whole way. The trouble with that, of course, was, that although I knew I would be early, I was over an hour and a half early and there was NO WAY I was going to join Cheryl and the schmuck at the reception.

*******

The sign was shiny and very new: Welcome to the Oxford White Water Centre.

It was five minutes from where the party was being held and fifteen from where Cheryl lived. I thought it was ideal and since I've never seen one of these up close before, it would surely be educational. The trouble was that I missed the entrance and so quickly pulled into a pub parking lot instead. I was sure they wouldn't mind; it was a really hot day and, judging by the amount of cars already there, they would be too busy to notice my rental in the corner.

The day was stunning, watching families as they walked the gravel paths around the white water centre. They explained what was going on to their children, and it helped me understand, as well. Sports had never been my thing; geeks like me prefer things that don't move, like computer terminals and tablets.

Breaking from the path, I sat on a picnic bench, glad I had bought sunglasses. That was a contradiction when you think that this was England and it always rained, but instinct made me bring them and I was glad I did. Seven people in a round rubber raft came down the man-made rapids. The woman making most of the noise and barking all of the orders was clearly one of the centre's instructors. The whole crew looked absolutely soaked, even in their wetsuits, and each and every one of them smiled all the way past me.

Two lone canoeists came next. They jammed their paddles into the water, forcing themselves against the rushing water in an effort to circle a colored pole dangling above them and then race onto the next pole or obstacle before disappearing around the bend in the course. The pause in activity made me wonder if that was that. The bossy woman and her six-person crew came around again some minutes later. I'm not sure who was the wettest, the rapids, or each and every one of them, but those smiles suggested an enthusiasm for the fun they were clearly having.

Only one of the two canoeists came down this time. If he was trying to perfect something, I failed to see what. The total concentration and skill he had with that paddle in his hands impressed the hell out of me. Just as the guy went on to attack another of the pole's dangling from a wire across the rapids, a young woman came into view on the bank across from me. At first, she confused me until I saw a duplicate of her farther down the course, so I figured them both to be part of some sort of safety team.

The jacket version of her wet suit was open showing a swimming costume. She wore shorts and her feet were covered in some sort of rubber shoes. The belt she wore held a pouch firmly to the small of her back, rope peeked out of both ends of the pouch. I smiled and promised myself to research all the proper names for these things since I could enjoy watching this sport, from the safety of a sports bar or home, of course.

There seemed to be that lull again. The young woman looked up the rapids and nothing came down. She waited a moment and then seemed to decide to talk to her friend farther down the path. As her back turned another canoeist came into view. This one was as fast as the first one and followed an identical path from the first canoeist. Both my mind's eye and memory followed this one down the rapids but something was wrong.

When this canoeist got past the fourth permanent obstruction that helped cause the white water, the rear of the canoe clipped it, sending the canoe sideways into the next obstruction. In the canoeist's haste to correct the mistake, the bottom of the canoe hit another obstruction just below the surface causing the canoeist to capsize.

Although it all happened much more quickly than I could explain it, the end result became both inevitable and just as frightening.

The paddle came first, the canoe still upside down came next, and now red had started to mix with the white water. Something was wrong. The safety woman was too far away to notice. Me standing and shouting over the noise of the rapids loud enough to draw her attention to all this happening wasn't going to work.

The canoeist needed help, that was a given. I pulled my jacket off, mindful of my passport and plane tickets inside. I rolled it up and forced it under the table on which I was sat. My shoes followed, and I dove in. FUCK this bitching water was cold, no wonder everyone wore wetsuits. The canoe hit another one of the permanent obstructions, causing it to spin and move, thankfully, towards me as it did. I was having my own problems swimming against such fast water, and the current bounced me off of one of the permanent structures a couple of times.

I did get the feeling that this wasn't one of my best ideas, as the torrent of water tried so hard to show me who was the boss here. I made a grab for the canoe and with my other hand made sure the canoeist was still inside before pulling hard, turning the whole thing upright. The sigh of relief did little to help our predicament, so bracing my feet against the structure the water forced me against, I pushed us both away from the strong current and towards the bank.

Even I knew I needed to get both of us out of this before I became as big a victim as she was. Yes, unless they had a lot of hippies who like white water canoeing, this was a woman. Away from the centre of the course, the water became calmer. As I grabbed hold of the banking, the water was almost still. Although I was going as fast as I could, wet clothes sure do slow you down. Being polite wasn't high on my list when it came to people not breathing and also bleeding.

Pulling her out of the canoe took a tug or two, I let the canoe go after that and pulled her further up the bank. I needed to get her breathing before doing anything about the bleeding. The life preserver came off first; the wetsuit thankfully zipped at the front and not the back. I then set about first aid and mentally thanked my college for having a mandatory first aid class.

The two safety girls must have noticed the empty canoe when it passed them because they came running. The one I had seen before ran further up the course, dove in. Since my concentration was on this woman in front of me I didn't notice the safety girl again until she was by my side. The other one ran up the hill towards the main building to alert everyone.

"Oh my God, I'm in so much trouble," were the only words out of her mouth as she knelt beside me.

The woman on the ground coughed and a jet of water left her mouth by a good six inches before gravity claimed it and covered her face.

"Just shut up and help me pull her over."

When the safety woman calmed a bit more, we both pulled the canoeist into the recovery position, checked her pulse once more before I stood and walked towards the bench and pulled my coat and shoes free.

"What are you doing? You can't leave."

"Yes, I can and am. Me being here will create too many questions you don't want. You saved her and I'm not here."

A loud klaxon sounded from the building at the top of the hill, enveloping the whole course in its call. The water started to calm and slowly the water level dropped around the course. I made it past the gates as an ambulance drove in. My rental was waiting to join the traffic as two police cars tore into the White Water Centre.