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  I offered an occasional comment—“The process of divorce is never easy”—but mostly I just listened. He began to share more personal details of their relationship, about what transpired in their bedroom, which I found uncomfortable and disconcerting to hear and suggested he keep to himself.

  Shortly after that, he was at my house one day, when he suddenly announced, “I will be leaving my wife and moving in here to live with you.”

  Unaware that he had concocted a scheme anything like what he had just stated, I stood frozen as I tried to breathe and formulate a reply. Finally, I carefully explained, “That is not going to happen.” Making every effort to stop the development of a plan such as his, I made it clear to him that I wanted nothing more than friendship after a volatile and unpredictable first marriage and an equally hostile divorce. I had no interest in love or marriage and clearly pointed out the fact that we were very different people from very different worlds. I repeatedly played the alphabet game, listing A–Z reasons a relationship couldn’t work for us: I was mobile, passionate, sarcastic, and openly communicative. He was quiet, Southern, and passive-aggressive, and, except for college, had never left the state where he had been born. I was physically active and confident and had a wide circle of friends. He skied only on occasion, was seemingly quite insecure, and had no friends whom he could identify, besides his children. Above all, he was still married.

  Never could I have imagined, nor would I forget, his immediate and dramatic response, and the change it would ultimately make in my life: “I love you, and I have infinite patience.”

  Unmoved and still unconvinced, I reminded him, “Where you want to go is not where I want to be. You’re struggling to unravel yourself from a long-term relationship, and you’re an emotional wreck as your marriage comes to an end. You’ve been reduced to inertia on the job and in your personal life. You need to have time to yourself. You need to sort through your life, your needs, and your goals before you even think about moving ahead with someone else. When you’re ready, there will be women who will be looking for a relationship and will welcome you into their lives. I am not that woman.”

  Still, he maintained his love for me, as well as his endless patience.

  And so time continued to pass and the attachment deepened. As a friend, I found it difficult to abandon him during such a trying period in his life. We spent increasing amounts of time together, mostly discussing the collapse of his relationship and the pain he was feeling as he struggled to end his twenty-year marriage. His concerns focused mainly on the impact the divorce would have on his children. He was especially concerned about his son, who already had a rocky relationship with his mother. When the separation became official and Jim moved into his own apartment, that bond was further strained. Marge was rarely home to provide much-needed stability in her son’s disrupted routine. She was instead enjoying a newly established social life and an expanded dating scene. When her son asked her why she was out so often, she responded, “Do you think your father isn’t doing the same thing?” Certainly not the type of conversation to ease a young adult through the transition of divorce. Jim talked endlessly of the guilt he internalized about ending the relationship—even though it had been a much-discussed, mutual decision.

  Although I experienced additional concerns, these regarding awkward coincidences he shared with my first spouse—similar first names and birth dates—he was far more like my father, with his carefree optimism and happy whistling, and those concerns slowly began to fade. Ease of conversation, comfortable compatibility, and an ability to honestly and openly discuss any topic or concern continued to build between us. We shared an interest in movies, reading, and restaurants. We both enjoyed the beach—any beach—and we continued to allow our friendship to develop. Despite the drawbacks of timing, children, recovery, and doubts, I did enjoy his kindness and attention.

  As the months turned into more than three years, I began to consider a romantic relationship with this man. He became an even more prevalent presence in my home and developed an increasingly closer bond with my daughters, and, as I watched their interactions, I began to believe that somehow, this just might work. However, while my daughters had grown accustomed to his presence in our lives over the years, a more comprehensive conversation seemed necessary as the relationship began to shift from one of friendship to one of romantic involvement.

  At first when I asked, “What are you feeling about his place in our lives?” a noncommittal “I’m fine with it” came from both of my children.

  Trying again, I reminded them, “Involvement with someone was never something I considered. However, given the respect, admiration, and support he displays for all of us, I would like to see where this might go. And I would like your support.”

  They shared a conspiratorial look, but I was certain I had them on my side as I excused them from the room. Each hugged me close and offered, “I love you, Mom,” as she walked away.

  When it came to meeting his extended family, I was nervous. I was raised as a Catholic, held a liberal worldview, certainly enjoyed a nice wine, and was quite apprehensive about how my introduction into his conservative, Southern Baptist clan would be viewed. Although he introduced me as his “friend,” the knowing looks we got clearly indicated that his relatives were confident he wouldn’t have brought me home unless I were more. His mother and siblings bombarded me with questions about how we had met, how long we had known each other, and where I lived.

  As I responded to all their inquiries, we moved into the kitchen to share a casual Sunday supper. I needn’t have worried about their acceptance, as the barrage of questions was replaced by supportive comments expressing their gratitude and appreciation to me for the change they saw in his demeanor. His siblings observed, “He’s cheerful again.” Jim’s mother commented, “Before now, he never seemed to feel deserving of anything in life but leftovers and always appeared tired, dejected, and timid.” All shared that his wife had often publicly belittled him and expounded on the fact that they had never seen him happier. I smiled shyly as the conversation turned away from his previous relationship and returned to less emotional topics, such as the fruits of the season and the ending of yet another school year.

  After that, I was included in all family events. We enjoyed holidays, crabbing, and collaborating on plans to build a third beach house. I began to seriously consider the possibility of a relationship with this man whom I perceived as kind, sensitive, attentive, consistent, and financially and emotionally stable—none of which I had ever experienced before. Starting to “bend and sparkle,” as a friend commented about my new zest for every moment, I determined to let this story unfold and watch what might happen.

  As he healed from his divorce, the kinks seemed to unravel. His boss had appointed him project manager on a new and demanding assignment, and she gave me the job of providing continued support to him as it moved ahead. When it ended and one project led to another, I continued to “have his back” as his career gained momentum and his reputation soared. I was delighted to help in any way I could and was confident he would do the same for me.

  He appeared to gain strength in his independence. When we had first begun dating, he had acted awkward and embarrassed by our relationship. I sensed an overriding guilt that he had failed his children by leaving his wife. I wondered why he felt so undeserving. Was it the collapse of a long-term marriage? The fact that he seemed to move ahead so quickly? His wife had already remarried. He never gave me a clear explanation for his behaviors, but often I was deeply hurt. There were the times when he abruptly took me home because one of his children called and needed last-minute assistance with transportation. There was also the holiday outing in Williamsburg, where we were too far away to be bothered and happily enjoying the ambience of the Christmas season. We strolled hand in hand through shops, until he noticed an acquaintance. He quickly dropped my hand and walked away from me to approach his friend, without any acknowledgment that he was with me or any attempt at int
roductions.

  When I later asked, “Why did you not admit you were with me? Why did you not introduce me to your friend?” he gave me no explanation. There was only an awkward silence.

  However, as the months continued to pass and the pain from his divorce faded, he became more willing to be seen openly and publicly as a couple. We began to share quiet dinners in intimate local restaurants. The movies we went to were no longer in neighboring communities. He introduced me as his “new friend” to acquaintances of his we happened upon. I planned and hosted a surprise celebration for his fiftieth birthday and invited all of his family and work colleagues, as well as some of my friends who knew of our situation.

  He began to explain to his children about our developing relationship. Unlike my daughters, they seemed to have far more difficulty accepting those changes. They were less than eager in their support and struggled to navigate my transition from parent of a friend and friend of their parents to their father’s romantic interest. It was certainly not smooth sailing and not always forward movement. However, with open communication, counseling, determination, understanding, and several years, we grew together. He consistently reassured me, “You can quit waiting for the other shoe to drop; I’m in this for life.”

  So when he came by to pick me up for dinner on a cold and blustery evening, got down on one knee, and asked if I would consider spending the rest of my life with him, I readily agreed. Both of us felt confident and comfortable that this partnership would last forever and prove mutually rewarding and satisfying. We agreed that the blending of our individually gratifying and contented worlds would enhance both of our lives.

  We planned a small wedding, to which only the two of us and our four children would bear witness. We reserved a private room in a historic downtown hotel, where we would exchange vows and share a celebratory dinner together. He and I would then spend a night in one of the beautifully appointed suites before we headed to the beach for our honeymoon weekend. Friends planned a wedding reception upon our return, and we settled into a combined and freshened version of my home to begin our marriage.

  As is often the case, life got in the way of our plans. Less than a year after the wedding, I was enrolled, after much mutual discussion and consideration, in a master’s program and he was on his way to an overseas assignment in Ireland. Despite the complications of our schedules, I frequently flew to Europe and he often flew home. Daily phone calls, routine cards and letters by mail, and Skype also kept us connected, so the hardship of distance, while not the best for starting this new journey together, was lessened tremendously.

  My trips were always quite complex to arrange. I was in class all day on alternating weekends and required a special exemption to miss even one session. I worked diligently and as far in advance as possible to submit papers ahead of schedule, so cohorts would not think I was receiving special favors. He had never toured Europe, so, that first spring, I suggested we forgo our tradition of spending our vacation on the sandy beaches of the Florida Keys, Mexico, or the Caribbean. Instead, we decided to enjoy the tulip festival in the gardens of Kuekenhof, Holland, and to visit Amsterdam. We walked the infamous De Wallen in the red-light district, and we toured the hiding place of Anne Frank. He took endless pictures of the stunning flowers and interesting scenery that surrounded us.

  He returned home in May for the college graduations of his son and my daughter, and I was able to make two more trips back to Ireland. We traveled the narrow, winding back roads of the north and marveled at the lush green countryside, the thatched roofs, the rocky coastline, and the traffic jams that sheep caused as they were herded across a country road. We explored pubs, drank Guinness, and ate potatoes prepared in every conceivable way. We purchased Irish crystal, linen, and woolen sweaters for ourselves and for others as gifts.

  We spent a long weekend in London, where we saw the Changing of the Guard, London Bridge, Buckingham Palace, and Big Ben. We shopped at Harrods and Covent Garden, where we discovered and purchased an antique brass compass. We purchased tickets for the Theatre Royal Haymarket, where we saw a performance featuring Judi Dench.

  We enjoyed a visit to Paris and marveled at the beauty of Notre Dame, Sacré Coeur, and Montmartre. We spent time absorbing the treasures in the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay. We walked the Champs-Élysées, pausing often at outdoor cafés for wine and cheese. The Arc de Triomphe was beautiful at any time of the day or night, and his favorite sight was the Eiffel Tower, whose engineering design and structure intrigued him. We spent time at Versailles and were both awed by the lush structures and gardens.

  We flew to Rome in August and toured the Vatican. We tossed coins into Trevi Fountain, climbed the Spanish Steps, and took in every historic sight the city had to offer. We stayed in Florence and visited Ponte Vecchio, where I purchased a coral bracelet. We explored the Uffizi Gallery, saw Michelangelo’s David, visited all the beautiful chapels, and indulged in fine Italian wine and cuisine. Every moment, every memory, was caught on camera. He would ask a stranger at each stop to snap a photo and freeze all of our special experiences. Observing his enthusiasm and joy during my visits made the struggle of getting there and the fatigue of the journeys well worth the effort.

  On the final day of my final trip, we boarded a train from Florence to Pisa, where we would depart on a flight back to Belfast. In typical womanly fashion, I spotted a pair of beautiful sandals, and he insisted I try them on in my size. They fit perfectly, and the last Italian purchase was made. Clutching the package, as well as our carry-ons, we wound our way through security and approached customs to have our passports stamped for departure. We barely made our flight but settled in comfortably for the quick journey back to Belfast.

  As his assignment was ending, it would be the last time we would visit Ireland before his final return home in the fall. Throughout the time that he had been overseas, I had been entrusted with an assignment as well: I had been asked to maintain a vigilant watch over our four children, our three pets, and our primary home, as well as a rental condominium and three beach houses. Although all three elderly and ill pets had to be put down during his absence, my work was considered a success. My accomplishment earned me beautiful diamond earrings, which he encouraged me to choose on my own—and which would later be one of the items that remained a constant in my life.

  We also learned during that time that there would be a new professional opportunity for him following the completion of his project in Ireland. It, too, would require relocation and would be temporary. It would have a minimum commitment of three to five years and would be only two states away. The location would keep us within easy driving distance of our children, so we could continue to remain active participants in their lives. Again, there was much discussion regarding the positive and negative impacts on both of our careers, our children, and our lives together. While I was not ready to leave teaching, I felt I could not deny him the role the move would provide. I was also unwilling to risk the marital damage that seemed inevitable if I declined to support his relocation and accompany him on the project. After all, we were newlyweds and he had just returned from one long-term assignment without me. The distance and the length of time felt like too large an obstacle and too big a threat to the building of a strong and lasting union.

  So, calling upon all my inner strength and personal experience (this would be my sixteenth move), I began the process of retiring from my thirty-year teaching career and preparing to secure a new home, as well as pack up the old one. Thinking I would sell my house, I was expecting to reconnect with the realtor I had worked with on the purchase. I was surprised to hear my husband say, “I would never expect you to sell your home. I know how important it is to you. I understand the security that it provides to you. You have worked too hard for this. I am already asking you to sacrifice enough on my behalf. We will keep it.”

  Amazed by his insight and generosity, I found that the relocation felt suddenly less daunting. When friends questioned why I wasn’t selling
and making a “fresh start,” I proudly explained his loving gesture. I restructured the packing plans and determined what we would leave behind. Lawn and pest services were kept in place, and the home was left sparsely furnished. The kitchen remained outfitted. His selfless action would provide a gathering place for family and friends on our routine trips back to visit. Holiday celebrations and milestone events would occur there, and the comfort and camaraderie of our blended families could continue to expand as the families themselves grew by virtue of weddings and births.

  We had been put in touch with a realtor in South Carolina, so, each day after school, I viewed dozens of homes on my computer. I waded through extensive information on the Charleston metropolitan area. I studied schools, neighborhoods, and shops. We began to narrow down the possibilities. For nearly six months, we made weekend trips between the two states, searching for a place to live. Having moved so frequently, and acutely aware that the real estate market was at a peak, I was cautious in my efforts. There were already whispers of a coming market adjustment, and we did not want to buy high and risk the possibility of being forced to sell low. That situation was a likely possibility, however, as my husband was the only employee not guaranteed a permanent position at the new job site. We were certainly not eager to face financial catastrophe at our age or at this point in our married life together. After so many moves, I was also unwilling to settle for a home of lesser quality than what I had grown accustomed to.

  After months of searching and consideration, we had narrowed our search to three areas around Charleston. We focused on the much-sought-after, trendy, and affluent Mt. Pleasant, the more bohemian area of West Ashley, and the sleepy and untouched Summerville. We determined to settle in Summerville, South Carolina. Historically known as Flower Town in the Pines, Summerville was built around a quaint little downtown square filled with shops and friendly people. It boasted that it was the home of sweet tea and hosted a Flower Town azalea festival each spring. It had quality schools, better proximity to his new job, and lovely homes at slightly more affordable prices than the other areas where we had looked. We refined our offer and added options onto the home, and I began to shop for outdoor porch furniture, accent pieces, and a large living room rug to tie together our current furniture and round out our new surroundings.