The usual disclaimers here. I don't own these characters. It's just that they're so much fun to play with.

I Love You More

by

Jan

Max sat at his desk looking over a stack of contracts. He ran his hand through his hair and stifled a yawn. Glancing at his watch, he realized he should have been in bed hours before. It had been difficult for him to get any work done lately, so he had to take advantage of any time he could manage to focus on work. He had been on edge as of late, but there was no obvious reason for it. To all outward appearances, his life was as complete and blissfully happy as it could be. He and Fran had been married for several months, and they had just been blessed with the news that they were having a baby. One play was in the middle of a very successful run right now, and things were going smoothly getting his next production underway. The children were all doing well—Maggie and Michael were so happy together, Brighton was on his way to Harvard, and Gracie had lots of friends and was doing well in school. But he just couldn’t shake this unnerving feeling that had been plaguing him.

He picked up Fran’s picture from his desk and smiled tenderly as he looked into those sparkling brown eyes and that gorgeous smile that melted his heart. "Maxwell Sheffield," he said aloud to himself. "You’re a lucky man." How could he ever express how thankful he was that she had come into his life? She had breezed—no blown—into their lives five years ago and made them all new again. Her style, her flair, her zest for life had shown them all how to live and to love again. And love her he did. So much so that it absolutely overwhelmed him.

He wondered if he completed her life as much as she completed his. What if he couldn’t keep her happy for the rest of their lives? After all, she was so outgoing and full of energy and he was so—well, British.

He set her picture down and picked up the one of him and Sara with the three kids. It had been taken on their last vacation to the beach just months before the terrible accident that had taken her from them. White sand and blue water gleamed in the background as five Sheffield faces smiled into the camera. Max had looked at that picture many times after Sara’s death and wondered if they would ever be that happy again. Now he realized they were. And their happiness, he knew, was all because of Fran.

He picked up the picture of Fran again and held the two photos side by side. Glancing back and forth between his two loves, he sighed heavily. They were two very different women. Sara had been sweet natured and even-tempered, always taking everything in stride. Fran was strong-willed and fiery, always meeting life head-on. It wasn’t fair to compare them, and he tried desperately not to. Max knew that Fran had never tried to compete with Sara, and he loved her all the more for it.

Suddenly, the troubling emotion came over him. Deep down, he knew what it was. He’d felt it before. At first, he had tried to ignore it. But every time he held Fran in his arms and she returned every caress tenfold, she sparked this outpouring of love from him and the ominous feeling would well up right along with it, gnawing away in the pit of his stomach.

For a while, he had tried convincing himself it was something else. Fear, maybe. Fear of losing Fran, fear of their differences driving them apart, fear of his not being able to live up to her expectations. Surely that could explain it. It was only natural to have a few insecurities at the beginning of a marriage. He had told himself that as their love for each other grew, the uncertainties would disappear.

But instead, as his love for Fran grew, so did the feeling. It could no longer be ignored, and it could not be renamed. Max recognized it for what it was. It was guilt—pure, insidious, gut-wrenching guilt.

As he returned the photos to their spots on his desk, the object of his musings opened his office door and poked her head in. "Sweetie, what are you still doing up?" she asked, coming on into his office. " I rolled over to wrap my arms around my handsome husband and found an empty pillow instead."

"I’m sorry, darling. I just wanted to finish these contracts tonight." Fran came around his desk as he pushed his chair out so she could slide onto his lap.

They wrapped their arms around each other as Fran whined, "I don’t like sleeping in that big bed all by myself. I slept alone in this house for five years—I didn’t care for it." She placed her hand on his cheek and gave him a warm, loving kiss. "Honey, I know you have a lot of work to do, but it’s not often that you and I have time alone. When the baby gets here, we’re going to have even less of it. I love you so much, I just want to spend every possible minute with you."

Max squeezed her to him and placed a sweet, tender kiss on her lips. He smiled at her lovingly and said, "I’m sorry, sweetheart. You know I adore spending time alone with you. How about if you and I get away for a romantic weekend soon?"

"Mmm—sounds good." She kissed him again.

He reached up to cup her chin gently. Brushing his thumb across her cheek, he said, "I love you."

Fran put her forehead to Max’s and said, "I love you more." Her lips reached out to give him a sweet kiss as her fingers slid through his thick black curls. She started to deepen the kiss when she felt Max pull back from her. She looked into his eyes and was disturbed by what she saw there. The smile had left his face, and his eyes were clouded over. "Sweetie, what’s the matter?" she asked, perplexed by his sudden change of mood.

He managed a weak smile. "Nothing, darling. I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. Let’s go to bed."

When they reached their bedroom, Fran crawled back under the covers and waited for Max to change for bed. When he slid in beside her, she could still see his furrowed brow and it worried her. "Max, are you sure you’re ok?"

"Yes, sweetheart. I told you I’m just tired."

"Too tired for this?" She reached over and began placing seductive kisses on his neck as she slid on top of him.

"Mmm—never," he growled. His need for her was immediate and insistent. "My God, Fran, what you do to me!" he choked out. She captured his mouth in a demanding kiss, and he knew at that moment that he was completely lost to her. She owned him, body and soul. He was helpless under her ministrations. Before long, he was clamping her body to his and calling out her name as they reached the peak together. In those moments, she was the only woman he could ever remember loving.

As they settled in for the night, Fran nestled her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder and Max wrapped his arms lovingly around her. Soon he could tell by the rhythm of her breathing that she had fallen asleep, but he lay there awake looking up at the ceiling. It felt so good, so right lying in bed holding Fran in his arms.

He smiled to himself as he thought about her little tag line. Every time he told her he loved her, she always said, "I love you more." It was so like her—always giving more than she took. But, how could she possibly love him more than he loved her? His love for her was so profound, so powerful. He had never experienced such a feeling in his life.

It was more than just his physical desire for her, though there certainly was that too. She was so beautiful and seductive, she set him on fire just by walking into the room. One glance from those brown eyes or one gentle caress as she straightened his tie lit up his libido. But, this all-consuming love for Fran was so much more than that. It was a heady combination of complete adoration, devotion, passion—he struggled to even find the words to describe it.

He wondered if he should try to temper it a bit—rein it in somehow. At this pace, how could it possibly last a lifetime? At this depth, how could it possibly not?

Slowly, the guilt crept over him again. It began as a ball of ice in the pit of his stomach and then permeated throughout his entire body. He fought to keep from giving voice to the feeling. Finally, he could fight it no longer. He spoke the words in a whisper, "I love her more—more than I ever loved Sara."

********************

Max awoke the next morning still tired. His sleep had been fitful at best. He reached out to pull Fran into his arms, but she was already up. He lay there a few minutes trying to get fully awake. Then he remembered his midnight confession, and a wave of guilt swept over him. "Sara, my love," he said out loud. "I’m sorry."

He had been trying to rationalize this thing for months. At first, he had decided that it was just that his love for Fran was fresh and new. It would even out over time, he had told himself. Then he had tried believing that his love for Fran was just different because she was such a different person from Sara. It was simply that her vivacious personality sparked a more spirited love from him. But neither of those arguments could come close to explaining how he felt.

So he had tried to state his love for her without bringing Sara into the equation. "I love her more than I ever thought possible," or "I love her more than I can express in words." But, who was he kidding? The plain truth was that he loved Fran more than he had loved Sara, and it ate at him. After all, Sara was his first love and the mother of his children. She had been taken from him by chance, not by choice. He knew his love for Sara had been true. But his love for Fran was so much stronger, so much deeper. So much more.

He tried other explanations. Maybe it was that his love for Fran was amplified by his gratitude for the joy she had brought back to their lives and the way she had raised the children so beautifully. Maybe it was that Fran was more demonstrative in her love toward him, and he was simply responding to that. Maybe it was a combination of—God, he was driving himself insane trying to make sense of it. One thing he knew for sure was that, if there was a way to measure love, then loving Fran was far beyond anything he had experienced with Sara, and it made him feel guilty as hell.

The other thing he knew for certain was that he had to figure this one out on his own. He couldn’t let Fran know. There was no way he was going to put any of this burden on her. Fran had always been so wonderful to embrace Sara’s memory. Never showing any jealousy, she had always encouraged Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie to talk about their mother and their memories of her. She would pull out pictures of Sara and look at them with the children whenever they missed her. She had even welcomed Sara’s parents into their home and begged them to stay a close part of the family, vowing never to replace Sara in the children’s hearts. No, Fran had always been so understanding and accepting of Sara, he couldn’t possibly allow her to share his guilt.

He suddenly thought about the anniversary coming up. "It will be ten years this Sunday," he thought to himself. Every year on that date, he and the children had taken flowers to Sara’s grave. Sometimes they would write her notes and leave them leaning against her headstone. The last few years, Fran had gone with them, always remaining in the background, but staying close to offer her loving support. But this would be the first year to visit Sara’s grave since he and Fran had been married. The first visit since he had come to realize the disparity in the love he held for his two beautiful wives. He couldn’t imagine dealing with the guilt he would feel this year standing at Sara’s grave with Fran by his side. It was hard enough to control his guilt when he and Fran were alone, but in front of Sara’s grave and with the children there, it would be impossible. Just like he used to keep Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie busy on Mother’s Day so they wouldn’t miss Sara so much, he knew he had to avoid that scene at the cemetery.

Damn his own conscience! Why couldn’t he just relish his love for Fran and take joy in the blessings that it brought them? After Sara died, he thought he would never love again. And now here he was swept up in an amazing love greater than he could have possibly imagined. He thought back to the night before his wedding when Sara had come to him in his office. She had confirmed his belief that Fran was the one for him. He recalled her exact words: "It’s ok to love her, Max." But she never gave her permission for this. She never said it was ok to love Fran so profoundly, so intensely, so much more than—he stopped himself before finishing the thought. With a heavy sigh, he rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, hoping the hot water would help rinse away his heavy mood.

Fran was in the kitchen pouring herself a cup of coffee when Brighton came walking in. "Morning, B."

"Morning, Fran. Listen, there’s something I need to ask you. Some of my friends are planning a ski trip this weekend. Is it ok if I go?"

Fran put two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of cream into her cup. She stirred it and said, "It sounds fine to me, but you need to check with your father." She took a sip of her coffee. "Oh, wait a minute, B. Did you forget what this Sunday is? Your dad and I expect you kids to be here that day."

"Oh, my gosh, Fran. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry. Don’t worry, you can count on me to be here."

"Be here for what?" asked Max as he came down the back stairs.

"For this Sunday. Don’t you have something special planned for the family?" asked Fran.

Max walked up behind her and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze while kissing her temple. "Good morning, darling."

"Good morning, sweetie." She poured him a cup of coffee and turned around to hand it to him. "Maxwell? What about this weekend? What do you have planned?" She looked up at him, but couldn’t decipher the strange look on his face.

Without taking his eyes off Fran, Max said, "Brighton, would you excuse us, please?"

"Sure, dad," Brighton said, scurrying quickly out the door.

Max tried to sound casual. "Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking. This weekend coming up is really the last time I’ll be able to get away for our little weekend alone. Things are going to get hectic very soon with this new play."

Fran looked into his eyes, still trying to read what was there. "You do realize what this Sunday is?"

"Yes, of course, dear. But we don’t have to go on that exact day, do we? I’ll take the children out to the cemetery one day soon." He set his coffee down and pulled Fran toward him. She laid her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around his middle. "In the meantime, you start thinking about where you would like to go."

"Maxwell?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Is this what’s been bothering you lately? The anniversary of Sara’s death?"

Max knew he had to be careful here. "I wouldn’t say it’s been bothering me. I’ve just been thinking that things might be a little different now that you and I are married."

"Max, you know it’s important for the children to remember their mother in a special way on that day. I think we should all go to the cemetery together like we always have. In fact, I was thinking about inviting Roberta and Ernest to join us."

Oh, God. That was all he needed. Thinking quickly, he said, "The children are all grown up now. Maybe we should let them decide for themselves how they want to remember their mother."

"But, Maxwell . . ." Fran protested. She lifted her head to look up at him, but when she saw the torment in his eyes, she simply laid her head back on his shoulder and tightened her embrace, letting her love flow all around and through him. If there was one thing Fran had learned about Max over the last few years, it was how hard it was for him to deal with his emotions. She could see that he was distressed, and she knew it wouldn’t be wise to press the issue any further. Right now, she just needed to let him know that she loved him and hope it wouldn’t be long before he could share what he was struggling with.

Max held Fran close for a moment and enjoyed the warmth of her body against his. Trying to sound upbeat, he asked, "Now, where would you like to go this weekend?"

"Mmm," she mused, turning her attention to more pleasant thoughts. "Somewhere with a beach. I‘d like one last chance to wear a bikini before I turn into a whale."

Max thought back to the photo he had been staring at just last night. The one of him and Sara with the children at the beach. Once again, his mind started making comparisons, and he knew that he had to steer this in a different direction. "Well, now, let’s see. My gorgeous, sexy wife running around the beach in a skimpy little bikini for all the men to drool over. That doesn’t sound like much of a vacation for me, now, does it, darling? Wouldn’t you rather go to the mountains? You know, rushing streams, crisp mountain air?"

Fran smiled as she let her hand play across Max’s chest. "Hmm—lots of cuddling to keep each other warm? Why don’t we go to the mountains?"

He reached down and gave her a kiss full of gratitude. She could read him so well. "I love you," he told her brushing the tip of her nose with his own.

"I love you more," she answered.

That, he thought to himself, was a complete and utter impossibility.

*********************

After Max informed the children of the planned weekend trip, the three of them agreed to postpone the visit to their mother’s grave. They found it strange, but the look on their father’s face told them it would be best not to ask any questions for now.

Max had decided to drive the Porsche up to the Berkshires rather than taking the limo. After giving Niles information on how to reach them in case of emergencies, they took off Saturday morning right after breakfast. Fran could actually see the tension leaving Max’s face with every mile they put between themselves and the city. She was hoping that he would be able to leave whatever had been weighing him down behind in Manhattan this weekend.

The two-hour drive was peaceful and uneventful, and soon they were pulling into a romantic little bed and breakfast nestled in the hills. After settling into their room, they took a stroll to look for a place for lunch. They found a little sidewalk café and decided to eat outside since the sun had warmed the day enough for them to enjoy the fresh mountain air.

After lunch, Max said, "What would you like to do now, sweetheart?

"Hmm—," said Fran. "You know, since we’re in the mountains, we could hike up one of them."

"Do you think that’s a good idea in your condition?" Max asked, concerned.

"What condition? I’m pregnant, not an invalid. The exercise will do me good," she declared.

When they reached the top of the trail, they both gasped at the panoramic view of the mountain lake and the valleys below. Fran was standing on the deck marveling at the natural beauty of the place when she felt Maxwell’s arms slip around her still slender waist from behind. She covered his arms with hers and leaned her head back to rest on his shoulder. They stayed like that for a long time, enjoying the vista, the peacefulness of the surroundings, and the closeness of each other’s bodies.

After a late afternoon nap, they went to a light-hearted romantic comedy at the Williams Theater. They both had a great time, but Maxwell particularly enjoyed being able to watch a play without having to worry about any of the production details. On the walk back, they found a Ben and Jerry’s, and Max had to laugh out loud when he saw Fran’s face light up. He knew better than to even argue. They finished the walk back to the inn hand in hand, eating their triple-scoop ice cream cones and laughing hysterically at each other trying to catch the drips with their tongues.

When they got to their room, Fran said, "I’m going to hop into the tub for a quick bath. I’m all sticky from that ice cream."

"Now, Mrs. Sheffield, surely you’re exhausted from the day’s activities. You’d better let me take care of that for you," Max said with a sly grin as he started pulling his shirt off.

"Something tells me there’s going to be nothing quick about this bath," Fran returned with a wink.

******************

After a late breakfast, they spent a lazy Sunday morning out on their private deck sharing sections of the New York Times. Max reclined on a chaise with Fran sitting between his legs and lying back on his chest.

Fran said, "Honey, I hear they have a wonderful day spa here. How about a massage?

Max took off his reading glasses and laid his head back. "Darling, I don’t think I could get any more relaxed than I already am."

"Then you can give me a massage," she proposed cheerfully.

"Sweetheart, if I start rubbing my hands on your body, I won’t be relaxed anymore."

"Then we better leave it to the professionals. Come on." She hopped up, grabbed his hand and pulled him up off the lounge chair.

After their massages, they looked through some of the little shops down the hill from their bed and breakfast. In one shop, Max bought Fran a pair of earrings that she fancied, but they spent most of their time browsing through a little store that carried baby clothes and accessories.

On their way back up the hill, Fran said, "Oh, honey, I’m having such a wonderful time here. I really don’t want it to end."

"Then why don’t we stay another night?’ Max offered. "I’ll give Niles a call when we get back to the room. I’m sure he can handle things until tomorrow." He was so glad to be extending their romantic weekend. He couldn’t bring himself to break the magic spell that had been cast on them by the beautiful mountain setting.

After hanging up the phone from talking with Niles, Max turned to Fran and said, "Darling, I hope you brought something smashing to wear, because I’m taking you out for dinner and dancing at an elegant five-star restaurant tonight.

"I think I can manage to throw something together," she said with a smile.

******************

Wearing his black Armani, Max had been pacing around the lobby for twenty minutes waiting for Fran to finish getting ready. Although he was getting a bit impatient, he knew the wait would be worth it. When he looked up and saw her coming down the stairs, his breath immediately left his body. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw his reaction. She loved having that effect on him. Her dress was a shimmery emerald green with a low-cut sweetheart neckline. It clung to her tiny waist, and Max glowed as he thought about why her waistline wouldn’t be tiny much longer. Her hair was swept elegantly off her neck with soft tendrils framing her face.

At the last step, Maxwell reached out to take her hand and kiss it. "I won’t be able to take my eyes off you all night," he said, his adoration evident in his voice.

"That’s why I chose this color—to match your eyes." She reached up and ran her fingers gently and lovingly through the streak of gray that adorned his thick, black waves.

The limo Max had hired for the evening was waiting right outside the door. As it weaved its way along the mountain roads, Fran was thankful that whatever had been troubling Max of late seemed not to have followed them to their mountain retreat. When they entered the restaurant, the maitre d’ showed them to their table near a window overlooking the lake. They both stared out at the night, struck by the beauty of the moonlight dancing across the waves. "Oh, Maxwell. Look how gorgeous the water is—how it sparkles."

"Just like your eyes," said Max, his voice full of love.

He ordered them each the lobster, and Max sat amused watching Fran polish off the entire thing. After dinner, he leaned across the table to Fran. "Darling, how about a little turn around the dance floor?"

"Hmm—Mr. Sheffield, you wouldn’t be trying to charm me so you can have your way with me, would you?" Fran smiled coyly.

"Always," Max smiled back, leaning over for a tender kiss.

He stood up and gallantly extended his hand toward Fran. "Mrs. Sheffield, may I have the honor?"

Fran smiled up at him and placed her hand in his. He led her out onto the dance floor. As she moved comfortably into his loving arms, the band began playing "Two Different Worlds." Both pairs of eyes opened wide in surprise.

"Did you slip the bandleader a $20 bill?" Fran asked accusingly.

"No, darling," Max told her. "It’s pure coincidence, or rather more like fate, I’d say. It means we are exactly where we’re supposed to be tonight." He held her close as he said, "You know, it was while we were dancing to this song at your reunion that I first fell in love with you."

"Really?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "You never told me that before." Then she laughed, "Remind me to send Judy Silverman a thank-you card!"

Their eyes locked on each other, and just like that first time, the other dancers began watching them, amazed at the striking couple and the obvious love that enveloped them. Fran glanced around. "Mr. Sheffield, everyone is staring at us," she said, feigning embarrassment.

Grinning slyly, Max said, "What do you say we give them an eyeful—again?"

Fran giggled in mock shyness, "Ok." Then she pleaded earnestly, "But for God sakes, don’t dip me!" They moved fluidly across the dance floor, their steps a repeat performance of the first time they had danced to that song.

As it was ending, Max twirled her away from him and then back to him, but instead of dipping her, he wrapped her up in his embrace and kissed her passionately. Her arms went around his neck and she returned his kiss pouring her whole heart into it. They stood there in the middle of the dance floor completely lost in each other. As the band began playing the next song, Fran and Max started slowly swaying to the melody, still wrapped up in their kiss. Finally, Max placed his cheek against her temple and took her right hand in his left as he slid his arm around her waist. Maybe they should just dance, he thought, and stop putting on such a show.

They held each other’s eyes, and Maxwell was so enthralled by those shining chocolate pools that he couldn’t have named the song if he had to. Slowly, the lyrics began to penetrate the haze he was in. He started to recognize the song, but he hadn’t heard it for years. It was a Beatles tune—"In My Life." Then, the song’s message began to sink in, and Max suddenly wondered if they were playing it just for him. As the vocalist sang the last verse, he was tuned in to every word:

"Though I know I’ll never lose affection

In my life, I love you more."

Max began to feel the guilt rise up in his throat, and he fought to hold it down. He hadn’t felt it all weekend, and now here on their last night the band had to play that damn song and bring it all back to him. He had to fight it. He couldn’t let her know. This weekend had been perfect, and he wanted it to end perfectly. He was a master at repressing his feelings. He could do this, he told himself. He had to keep the evidence of his guilt out of his eyes. He wanted her to look at him and see nothing but the tremendous love he felt for her.

As the song ended, Fran pressed her cheek to his and whispered into his ear, "Maxwell, I love you."

"I love you more"—he froze. Oh, God, he had almost said it. Nearly uttered the confession he had vowed to keep from her. That damn song! He looked at her anxiously, but found her smiling back at him. He breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she hadn’t understood the full meaning of what he had just admitted.

"Hey, that’s my line," she said playfully smacking his shoulder, lightening the moment.

Max hid his anguish with a smile. "Sorry, darling. I was just going to say that I love you more every day," he said, covering his near blunder. Gathering himself, he kissed her and said, "I’m getting rather tired. Do you mind if we call it an evening?"

Fran looked closely at his face. She could see right through that smile, and it pained her that Maxwell seemed once again to be battling some sort of demon.

******************

Max lay back on the pillow and brought his arm up to his forehead as he concentrated on slowing his breathing. Their lovemaking had begun slowly and tenderly, but had quickly turned fiery, almost frantic, as a wave of guilt had overtaken him and he had sought desperately to stem the tide. His abandon, he knew, had all been some futile attempt to drive away his guilt, but it was no use. Making love so passionately with Fran only highlighted the contrast between her and Sara.

He had thought that bringing Fran up to the beautiful mountain hideout would allow him to leave the guilt far behind. And it had almost worked. Since they’d arrived, every thought and action had been a joyous and carefree celebration of their love—until tonight, until that song had brought it all rushing back. He was just grateful that Fran didn’t seem to have noticed the sudden turn in his mood.

As Fran’s breathing began to calm down, she looked over at Max and wondered what it was that he was wrestling with. She always loved it when he became her "wild man," but tonight he seemed to be fighting some unseen enemy. She was sure that enemy was himself, and she knew it had to do with Sara. Today was the first anniversary of Sara’s death since they had been married, since Max had admitted his love for her. In spite of what he’d said about the children remembering their mother in their own way and this being the last weekend he could get away, she knew he was avoiding that trip to the cemetery. Fran wondered if he was afraid of hurting her feelings if he made too much of paying respect to Sara’s memory. She felt as though she had to reassure him.

She snuggled up against him and rested her hand directly over his heart. "Sweetie, tomorrow morning on our way out of town, let’s stop at that little flower shop we saw today. They had some gorgeous tulips and I thought we could pick some up."

"What for?" he asked

"To take to the cemetery," she said tentatively.

Max hesitated. How could he explain what he was feeling without dragging her into his guilty abyss?

Not hearing any protest, she decided to push things a bit. "Maxwell, it’s ok for you to honor Sara’s memory even though we’re married now. She was an important part of your life and she gave us our three beautiful children. I know you still love her. I wouldn’t expect otherwise." She raised her head to look directly at him. "Is that what’s been bothering you lately? Are you feeling guilty for loving us both? If it is, you don’t have to. Sara and I can share your heart. I’m fine with that, and I’m sure she would be too."

Max looked into her shining brown eyes and thought his heart would explode with the love he was feeling for her in that moment. God, could she do anything else to make him love her more? He wavered, knowing he was on shaky ground here. Then, he took a deep breath and said, "Actually, darling, Sara already told me she was."

Fran’s eyebrows shot up. "Wha?"

"I never told you this before because I was afraid you’d think I’d completely lost it. But, the night before our wedding, Sara came to me. She said she was happy for us and that she was so grateful for what you had done for the children. She told me that she was the one who sent you to me. Can you believe that?"

"Of course I can believe that. I believed you when you told me that my Bubby Sophie came to you in a dream, didn’t I?" she said with a wink.

Max turned a bit sheepish. Then he said earnestly, "I’m serious, darling. She was right there in my office."

Fran’s mischievous wink was replaced by a warm, supportive smile. She spoke tenderly, "Sweetie, I believe you. It makes perfect sense to me. Sara only confirmed what I’ve been telling you all along. You and I are meant to be."

Max saw her encouraging look and decided to keep going. "And she also said that it was ok for me to love you."

"Ya see there? You have nothing to feel guilty about. Sara’s ok with it, I’m ok with it, so you can be ok with it. Now let’s go to the cemetery tomorrow so I can thank her for loving you so much that she’s willing to share you with me. You know she just wants you to be happy."

"And I am, darling, beyond my wildest dreams." He kissed her with all the love he was feeling for her. He only hoped that she couldn’t read the guilt that still lurked in his eyes.

She reached up and combed her fingers through his hair. "I know how hard it is for you to talk about your feelings. But, Max, I’m your wife now. I just wish you’d share these things with me so we can work on them together. Now, there’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?"

Damn—she could read him too well. Max wavered. He couldn’t tell her. It wasn’t her fault that he loved her so much, and he couldn’t let her feel guilty for it. He would work this out on his own. "No, darling," he said, trying to sound as genuine as possible.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I’m sure."

She kissed him again and laid her head back down on his chest certain that there was something else bothering him.

********************

After an hour, Max was still nowhere close to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about his two beautiful wives giving him permission to love the other, and he was humbled by it. He didn’t deserve such love and understanding from two such extraordinary women. Fran said it was ok to love Sara. Sara said it was ok to love Fran. But they never said he could love one more than the other. He was sure that it would hurt Sara deeply, and Fran would be wracked with the same guilt he was feeling. He whispered, "Sara, can you forgive me?"

He gently lifted Fran’s arm from around him and slid out of bed. Picking up his robe, he tiptoed across the room and silently pushed open the terrace door. Outside, he closed the door and looked up at the sky. Without competition from city lights, the stars shone brilliantly, appearing as though he could just reach up and touch them. He sat down on the chaise and deeply inhaled the mountain air. "Maybe it will help clear my head," he thought.

Slowly, an idea started to form in his mind—an idea for a way that he could quash the guilt that was threatening his sanity. He would try to control the magnitude of the love he felt for Fran. After all, he had done it for three years, and he could do it again. It wasn’t as though he was going to completely deny his love for her like he’d done before. He would just calm it down a little, slow the pace, curb the intensity of it. After all, it was the sheer force of his love for Fran that triggered his guilt. If he could just rein in his feelings for her, surely the guilt would diminish. He could make it work. He had to do something before the weight of his guilt-ridden conscience crushed him.

Suddenly, a tingling sensation shot through him. He recognized the feeling immediately—it had happened once before. He stood up and turned around to see his beautiful Sara standing there. There was a radiant glow about her and a warm smile on her face. "Hi, Max," she said sweetly.

"Sara," he said as he stepped toward her. Suddenly embarrassed, he looked down. "I’m sorry I didn’t come visit you today. I . ." He searched for some reason that would sound plausible.

Sara reached out and placed her hand tenderly on his cheek. "It’s ok. I know."

He looked back up into her smiling face. "You probably also know that I’ve been having a tough time lately. I don’t know how to deal with this guilt. You know I still love you and I always will."

"I know, honey. I love you too."

"It’s just that with Fran, I . . ." he struggled to find the right words. He turned his head away from her and walked over to lean against the railing. Sara came to stand next to him and placed her hand gently on his shoulder.

"It’s ok, Max. I know that too. I’ve known all along this would happen. It’s one of the reasons I sent her to you."

"It is?" He turned to look at her incredulous.

"Max, I know you better than you know yourself. I knew I would have to send you someone you would love so deeply and so passionately that you wouldn’t be able to deny your feelings in spite of your guilt. It took five years, but you finally reached that point. Did you think that just because you’re married now that your love for her wouldn’t keep growing?"

"Oh, Sara, you’re amazing," Max said, relief in his voice.

"Honey, it’s ok to love her more than you love me. It was my decision to have it that way. Please don’t feel guilty. And stop trying to control your feelings for her. You won’t be able to, anyway. Go ahead—love her with your whole heart and soul."

"I do."

"I know. It’s how it’s supposed to be. Like Fran says—bashert." Max took her hand in both of his and brought it to his lips. He smiled lovingly into her eyes and she returned the look of love. "No more guilt," she chided softly. "Promise?"

"I promise." He kissed her cheek gently. When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

He looked up and stared for just a moment at the brilliant stars. "Thank you, my love," he said reverently. He walked back over to the terrace door and slid it open. As he stepped through, he saw Fran resting peacefully in the bed. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, framing her beautiful face. He stood frozen for a moment, staring at her and relishing the overpowering love that freely poured out of him for his beautiful wife. As if she felt the wave of love wash over her, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"Come here," she commanded tenderly.

He made it across the room in two strides, sliding beneath the covers and gathering her into his arms. He seized her mouth with his and crushed her to him so tightly that she could barely breathe. He rained kisses across her face and down her neck, and then raised his head to look directly into her eyes. Joyously, he declared, "Fran, I love you so much."

She looked into his gleaming, guilt-free eyes and said, "I love you more."

His face aglow with all that he was feeling, he confessed, "I love you more." And she understood exactly what he meant.

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