Starting At Goodbye: A Memoir

By Marilyn Boehm

Marilyn and Wayne met at a country western bar in Lawndale during the "Urban Cowboy" craze of the '80's. She took him home that evening for what was to have been her last one night stand, but he stayed for almost thirty years. Theirs was a relationship defined by upheaval: the incomprehensible insanity of alcoholism, followed by life affirming recovery. They married, divorced, and remarried, raising two children while hardly knowing how to raise themselves. After being together for twenty-four tumultuous years, a bomb shattered their illusions during Christmas 2003: Cancer. This would prove to be the final siege on their embattled lives together. Once so virile, handsome, and strong, Wayne was diagnosed with brain lymphoma at the age of 54. They were baby boomers who thought they were invincible. Devastating illness was something reserved for grown-ups, for those who had a toe hold on reality. From the beginning of their journey to the tragic ending, they had a deeply passionate and unbreakable bond. This is their rollercoaster ride through pain to redemption as they both learned the true meaning of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781682222089

Book preview

You can shed tears that he has gone,Or you can smile because he has lived.You can close your eyes and wish that he’ll come back,Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left.Your heart can be empty because you cannot see him,Or it can be full of the love you have shared.You can turn your back on tomorrow and live in yesterday,Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.You can remember him and ache that he has gone,Or you can cherish his memory and let him live on.You can cry and close your mind, be empty, and turn your back,Or you can do what he wanted……. Smile, open your eyes, LOVE,And go on.

– David Harkins

AUTHOR’S NOTE

After being together for twenty-four tumultuous years, Wayne and I had a bomb drop on our marriage during the Christmas season of 2003: Cancer. It was an alien word which would prove to be the final siege on our embattled lives together. This was a war against which we had no weapons.

Once so virile, handsome, and strong, Wayne was diagnosed with brain lymphoma at the age of fifty-four. He and I were baby boomers who thought we were immortal. Reality, especially devastating illness, was reserved for others— the unhip, normal folks.

Until the moment that would shatter our illusions, we had a relationship defined by upheaval—the madness of alcoholism and subsequent recovery, divorce and remarriage, and the parenting of two children when we were so childish ourselves. Though I mention these children by name, I have purposely kept them on the sidelines of the book to respect their rights to privacy.

This memoir has been filtered through the haze of my memory. I have reconstructed conversations and events through the years, relying on letters, journals and emails to fill in the gaps. Some of the names of major and minor people have been altered to protect their identities and maintain their anonymity.

From the beginning of my journey with Wayne from grief to emergence, we had a deeply passionate yet unexplainable and unbreakable bond.

Here is that story.

Chapter One: In the beginning

We were two drunks, drawn to each other like a tornado to a trailer park.

On that hot summer night, the 3rd of August, 1980, I sorted through my closet to find just the right look for my evening at Cal’s Corral, a rundown country-western bar off the freeway in Lawndale, California. Sipping on my third glass of Chablis, I checked myself out in the mirror. For a thirty year old woman, I figured I looked damn good in my braless maroon tank top and tight jeans.

Country music had never been my scene, having grown up on the Beatles and Rolling Stones. But this was the era of the Urban Cowboy fad. The movie had sparked my interest in this unfamiliar genre, as well as in the prospective breed of hunky guys who followed it.

My friend Ellen and I made our entrance into the cavernous dark club by pushing past the swinging saloon double doors. My ears were assaulted by the blaring guitars, banjos, violins, and drums of the house band, while hoots and hollers roared like thunder from a group of guys sitting at the bar.

Through the thick haze of cigarette smoke, I checked out the action in the tightly packed room and on the dance floor. The joint was hopping.

I don’t see any open tables, I shouted to Ellen.

"You can sit on my lap." I heard the words spoken in a boozy, deep voice aimed in my direction. I was both appalled and captivated by the fine-looking dude who rocked unsteadily on his stool. He sat next to a couple who shared the beer-drenched table with him. When I looked at him, he winked and dipped his straw hat.

Whaddya think? I mouthed to Ellen, while pointing to the table. She shrugged.

What the hell? Why not?

We pulled two unoccupied chairs from a nearby table and reluctantly joined the trio. I covertly checked out the dude, doing a random scan of his lanky build as he sipped on a cold one. I secretly hoped when he stood up that he’d be tall enough to match my 5’11" size.

He was my type, all right: straight sandy-brown hair, a handlebar mustache, and hazel eyes glazed over by a few too many bourbons and Budweisers.

Typically, I’d wait until later in the evening before joining a man at his table. I’d have to make sure I’d found the cutest guy in the place before I made such a huge commitment. After all, I had my standards.

I sized him up again. Mighty fine, I decided. He’ll do.

I scooted my chair a little closer to him so I’d be heard over the racket. What’s your name? I said.

He leaned over and whispered something in the ear of his friend.

Wayne, the friend said, grinning. His name’s Wayne.

What the hell? What’s his trip?

Where ya from, Wayne? I said, louder than before.

He leaned over again and whispered into the other guy’s ear.

He says he’s from around these parts.

What kind of game is he playing? Can’t this jerk speak for himself? What a moron!

I distracted myself by shifting my gaze to the moves of the sexy, bearded lead singer of the band.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp kick under the table. The barmaid had come to take our drink orders. This was Wayne’s way of getting my attention.

Hey! I yelped, throwing him a dirty look. I didn’t know what his problem was, and, even worse, why was I still there playing along?

Still, he’s awfully cute.

Already two sheets to the wind, I figured I’d go to three. I ordered a vodka shot and sat back in my seat to relax. Oh, what the hell. I was curious.

Then he asked me to dance. When he rose, I noticed he was tall and had a basketball player’s slim but muscular body. He pulled me across the crowded dance floor, and it was

useless to resist. When his arm slid loosely around my waist, a jolt of electricity shot through my groin. God, is he cute!

The band crooned Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound, a slow number by Hank Williams, Junior, and I figured Wayne would pull me in close to his body. Instead, he kept me at arm’s length.

Now what’s he up to?

Rather than pawing and grabbing at my ass like most of the guys I’d met in too many other watering holes, Wayne acted like we were in junior high. Had he confused the bouncer with a school chaperone who’d insist we keep an arm’s length on the dance floor?

He was one of the oddest men I’d ever met, yet I found myself growing more intrigued.

And he’s so damn cute.

The song ended, and the band went on break. We returned to the table. Wayne knocked off his stupid whispering game and told me he’d just moved back to California from Utah.

My folks have a dairy farm in Beaver. I been hangin’ around out there for a while with my mom. About went nuts in Beaver. Dad’s out here, workin’ at TRW. He rents an apartment in Redondo while Mom stays at the farm. Dad sorta commutes back and forth between em.

Ohhh, so you’re a farm boy. How interesting, I said, sneaking a glance at his crotch.

Yeah, well, I help out the old lady while Dad’s in California. Repair the house, milk them cows, that kinda stuff.

So now you’re living with your dad in Redondo?

I’m not proud to be stayin’ with him, but it’s just temporary. Guess my dad’ll move to Utah permanent one day. He threw down a shot of Jack Daniels. Yeah, Beaver. The whole town reeks of cow dung and bull shit, he said with a snort. What a drag.

Hmm, I said, adjusting the cleavage on my tank top, I guess that makes you a real cowboy.

Real cowboy, hell, he laughed, pushing back the brim of his hat.

Cool hatband, I said. What’s it made of?

Snake. Rattlesnake. And I kilt it!

Shit! No lie? I perked up. I’d never met a man who’d killed a rattler.

It was instant love.

Although I’d just sworn off one night stands, I decided to take him home that night. Figured he’d be good for a romp in the hay and then we’d call it an evening.

By the end of the weekend, he was still with me, leaving only briefly to gather his stuff from his dad’s place. He packed everything he owned into a couple paper sacks. Without any discussion between us, he’d casually moved himself and those bags into my tiny, Torrance home.

Even for me, with my impulsive nature, letting Wayne move in was drastic. I knew almost nothing about him; yet being with him was as natural as breathing. When he wrapped me in his arms, I felt as comfortable as the soft, gently worn flannel shirt he wore.

From the outside, we couldn’t have been more different. He was a blue collar worker with a high school education. He spent his days painting houses and came home after work to soak his hands in turpentine. I was a college graduate, Magna Cum Laude, who worked as a probation officer while raising my eight-year-old son, Shawn.

I never figured he and I would last.

Wayne told me much later that he’d never doubted he’d stay.

Why are you with me? I’d ask.

"Shit! Are you nuts? You got a cabinet full of booze, baggies of pot, and your own house. I’d be crazy not to!"

I took this explanation as some sort of a joke. Of course, he was with me for more than my stash. Wasn’t he?

The first two weeks together were filled with lust and longing. We spent most of our time in bed, forcing ourselves out into the world only for work or when I needed to be a mother to Shawn. It was as close to heaven and happiness as I’d ever found. Wayne offered to pitch in a hundred dollars of week towards my mortgage, which sounded like a fair deal to me.

After two weeks and a day, I came home from work to find Wayne sprawled on the couch nursing a beer. Condensation from his last dozen cans had left rings across the coffee table.

What in hell’s going on here? I said, tapping my foot. I scanned the wreckage of empty beer cans across the living room floor.

Quit my job, he said, lifting his beer in a toast. Overslept today and decided I’m not workin’ for that asshole anymore.

I felt the blood rush to my face. Wayne must’ve noticed. Hey, don’t sweat it. I’ll get another job real soon. Don’t get your panties in a knot, okay? I’m good for my share of the rent. You’ll get yer money just like before.

Wayne, you better not be shittin’ me. I swear to god…

Come here, baby, he said, patting the space next to him on the couch. Have a beer. Relax! Lotta traffic gettin’ home?

He threw me his killer smile, and I was defenseless as I fell into his embrace.

The next day, I came home from the office to find a fresh coat of paint on the house. Wayne came out of the house with a wet brush still in his hand. See, baby? I’ll take care of you till I get a job. Don’t be so uptight.

The next day, he’d mowed the lawns and showed me the early stages of an end table he’d started building to match the couch.

What about the job? I said.

Come on into the house. A nice fat rocket I just rolled is waitin’ for ya. Relax!

I let him pull me inside, where he handed me the joint. Once I got stoned, I couldn’t stay mad at him anymore. Then he’d sweep me into the bedroom where everything would be forgiven.

A few days later, I drove home with my head pounding from a super hangover. I’m not gonna let him sidetrack me again, I promised myself.

I walked into the house and found Wayne spread eagled on the couch, his feet sprawled on the coffee table next to some crumpled beer cans. A football commentator blasted out the plays on TV. I snapped off the game.

You’re not even looking for a job, are you? I screamed. I refused the beer he offered. I’m not letting him distract me one more time, I vowed.

Why are you gettin’ so pissed off? Calm down, baby, your veins are poppin’ on yer neck. Rough day at the office?

Get out, you asshole, I said, with tears stinging my eyes.

No problemo, he said. He got up from the couch and headed into the bedroom. I fell against the wall in disbelief. Was he really leaving me?

He moseyed in and out of the bedroom for what seemed like hours. He owned only a few possessions, enough to fill those same two paper sacks. What’s taking so long?

I never stay where I’m not wanted, he said, his words slurred. He had the two bags in his arms and set one down. Then he tossed me the house key.

See ya, sweetheart, he said. He picked up the second bag and, using his foot, slammed the door behind him.

I waited a beat, sure he’d come back into the house. Nothing. Has he really gone?

Minutes went by, and he hadn’t returned. This looked like it. We were finished. The end. I collapsed onto the couch, still warm from where he’d lain. Tears trickled down my cheeks. Memories from the past few weeks swirled through my mind. What would life be like without the feel of his hands caressing my body? How could I go on without the lusty looks we’d shared while we made love? I longed to hear his low, deep growl, his reassurance we’d make it work.

I reflected back on my string of bad relationships in the six years following my marriage to Ben, Shawn’s father. Ben was no great shakes either. I’d met him when I was nineteen and in a college tutorial program at a probation camp. He’d been an eighteen year old high school dropout incarcerated for drug sales. He’d been my first boyfriend and my first lover. I’d decided to marry him on impulse when I was my best friend’s maid of honor at her wedding. Somehow, I never questioned Ben’s adequacy to be my husband.

Then I’d endured one miserable relationship after another with more socially appropriate, professional but commitment phobic California guys. By the time I’d met Wayne, loneliness had burned a hole in my gut. He might not have been good for me, but at least he said he’d always be there and that he loved me. I was ashamed to admit how needy I was, how desperate. Years of therapy never helped me understand why I made such bad choices in men.

I got up and poured myself a glass of white wine. Then another, and another.

Where is that man? I threw open the front door every few minutes, hoping Wayne would be standing at the door, waiting for me with a stupid grin on his face

I paced across the living room floor, spilling wine while mumbling to myself between sobs. The more time passed, the gloomier the future appeared. I can’t live without him.

An hour later, the phone rang. Wayne.

Where are you? I said, crying into the speaker.

I’m at the payphone outside the liquor store, he said slurring his words.

Just down the street from the house? I said, too eagerly. My heart beat so hard I thought it would explode.

Yeah, that one. Hey, baby, what’s going on? he said. His words were as smooth as a shot of Jack Daniels.

Oh, thank God! Baby, come home! I said. Mortified at the anguish in my voice, I tried to keep my hands from shaking. The phone clicked off on his end. Will he come back?

I raced into the bathroom to check myself in the mirror. I wiped off the mascara streaking down my face and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. I ran a brush through my tangled hair and changed from my sweatpants into a tight pair of jeans.

I heard a knock at the front door and threw it open to see him standing there, looking sheepish. He dropped the paper sacks to the ground, and I threw myself into his strong arms.

I’ve missed you, baby. Please don’t leave me ever again, I said with my lips crushed into his chest.

Wayne pulled me into the bedroom, shutting the door to the emptiness outside.

Chapter Two: Separated By Snow

Dear Marilyn. Goodbye. I’m going back to Utah. Love, Wayne.

P.S. I’ll miss you.

It was November 14, 1980, three months after we’d met. I found the note on a wrinkled scrap of paper slipped under the front door mat when I got home from work. The previous week, I’d kicked him out for pissing me off during a bad fight. Wayne had spent the week at his dad’s Redondo Beach apartment. I hadn’t sweated it. We just needed a short breather from each other.

From the time we’d met, he’d reminded me skiing was his first love. He warned me he was in California temporarily, only until ski season. He had a standing job offer every winter with the Coneys, owners of Mt. Holly, a resort located in the Tushar Mountains just outside Beaver, Utah.

Wayne told me he’d met the Coneys a few years after his family had moved to Beaver County. Nathan, Wayne’s dad, worked as an engineer at TRW, a major aerospace and defense contractor in Redondo Beach, California. He’d had a dream of quitting his job at TRW and running a dairy farm.

In 1972, Nathan purchased a one hundred fifty acre farm in Manderfield, on the outskirts of Beaver. He bought eighty head of cattle and five pigs, and, in 1972, he uprooted the seven Medler children from Redondo Beach to a town with a population of two thousand. Nathan’s plan was to keep the job at TRW and commute back and forth to the farm until he could move there permanently. In the meantime, the Medler kids, including Wayne and their mom, settled in the farmhouse in Utah.

Wayne learned all aspects of farming. One night he thrilled me with a story about birthing a calf. The damn thing was stuck in its mother’s belly. Guess it was upside down and wanted to come out feet first. Cow was moaning in pain. The sound was somethin’ terrible. Just made your stomach hurt hearin’ it. Dad thought we’d have to put ‘er down.

Yeah, and then what happened?

Wayne hunkered down, seeming to visualize the scene, as he continued the story. So I reached into that cow’s hole and yanked the calf right out by its legs. Damn thing was slick with fluids. Slippery as hell. I fell backwards on my ass into the mud.

I laughed at the image. Well? Did the calf live? How ‘bout the mother?

Wayne stared off into the distance, lost in the memory. Within minutes after that calf was out of her, that cow got up, afterbirth all hangin’ out, and damned if she didn’t start lickin’ that little one. The calf started shakin’ its head, slappin’ its wet ears back ‘n forth. Got up maybe a half hour later.

Yeah…and?

They both made it.

I clapped with pleasure. How’d you feel watchin’ it? Did you laugh? Cry?

Cry, yeah right. But it was pretty cool.

At that moment, I pictured Wayne as the father of my future children.

Those first three months we spent together were filled with moments of pure ecstasy interspersed with moments of vicious arguments. I don’t remember much about the times in between.

Only weeks after we’d met, Wayne announced, I’m gonna go for it—for you and me. I’m not afraid. I love you, baby.

I love you too, I’d said, intoxicated both by my need for him and by a half gallon jug of wine. Was it love or something else? I didn’t know or care. I only knew when I looked into his sad, hazel eyes, my heart softened. He was so beautiful with his slender basketball player’s body and with the handlebar mustache he continually twisted upwards. I couldn’t get enough of him, craving the feel of him, the smell of him.

With him, I felt safe enough to let down my guard. I shared my darkest, most intimate secrets. One night, we sat together on the couch and guzzled a few beers. I told him about being rejected by boys in high school because I was so much taller than they were and I suffered from horrible cystic acne. It’d left deep pockmarks on my face and even deeper scars of insecurity about my looks.

I always felt so ugly, I said. Mom took me out of class to go to the dermatologist. He gave me shots in the boils on my face so he could drain them. Then he put cotton balls over the injection sites. Put me under a sun lamp for twenty minutes and sent me back to school like that—with the cotton balls stuck like popcorn all over my red, sun burnt face. It was a nightmare. Can you imagine? I shuddered from the memory and couldn’t meet Wayne’s eyes.

Damn, baby. That really sucks. I think you’re pretty. Wayne massaged my shoulders. I wish I’d known you in high school. I always loved scars on a girl.

Huh? What are you saying? Are you nuts? Those were the most painful times of my life.

I mean it. I really dig scars. I’ve got over a hundred stitches from where my head went through a windshield. He pointed to his right eye. That there’s a five inch scar. His eyebrow was lopsided, with a large gash tearing a jagged line across it. His silky hair fell gently over the wound. The slight imperfection only made him more handsome.

Almost ate it from that accident. Was drivin’ home after a late night drinkin’ at a biker bar in Silverado Canyon. Must’ve missed the turn and hit a curb or a tree or somethin’. Don’t remember much from that night. Found out later a medic who’d served in ‘Nam just happened to find me in the bushes. If he hadn’t come along just then, I wouldn’t be here. He shook his head, reflecting, and got quiet.

That’s somethin’ all right. Pretty ironic too when ya think about it, considering you’re a Vietnam vet. What are the odds that guy would be there just then?

Pretty damn slim.

Well, I’m not crazy about my scars. They really shaped my self image as a girl. Learned to avoid bright lights. If a light hits my face just so, I look like Frankenstein. Was even worse in high school. Boys would pass by me in the hallway and make a loud ‘yecch’ sound in my direction. Guess they figured it amused their buddies. I felt tears welling in my eyes and turned away from Wayne.

He reached over, pulled me close and lightly stroked my cheek. I’d have knocked the shit out of ‘em if I’d been around. The bastards.

Made me afraid to trust guys. Never even went to my prom and only had one date in high school. Asshole didn’t even give me a good night kiss. Heard years later he’s gay. My friends said I made him that way. I snorted to myself, breaking the mood. Then we both cracked up.

Hey, let me get you a cold one. He hopped up from the couch and got a couple Buds out of the refrigerator.

You’re the first man I ever told that shit, I said, accepting the beer he handed to me. He plopped down next to me and hugged me to his chest while I sipped the suds off the top. All those old memories are makin’ me sweat. I’m gonna jump in the shower.

Can I come too?

He followed me into the stall and soaped my back. Then he lifted up the shampoo bottle, squirted out a dollop, and lathered it gently through my hair. No one had ever shown me such tenderness, and I lapped it up like a mongrel pup suckling on its mother’s teat.

We got out of the shower, and Wayne enveloped me in a fluffy towel. He caressed each part of my body as he patted me dry. Hey, I got a great idea, he said suddenly. Let’s go dancin’.

Awww, hell. I’d go but I don’t feel like spending all that time getting ready. Blow drying my hair and fixing my face.

Naw! Go just like you are. Don’t fix nothin’.

I slapped him playfully on the arm. There is no way on earth I’m going into a nightclub without makeup. All those lights and people.

So friggin what? Throw on some jeans and let’s hit it. You look great! C’mon, do it for me.

Jesus. I couldn’t resist him when he begged like that. We went out to a local club, which was hopping with action. I wanted to sit at a dark table, but Wayne wouldn’t have it. He pulled me onto the dance floor, right under the lights.

You’re beautiful, baby, he whispered in my ear during a slow number.

I almost believed him.

The next night, darkness descended on us again. I came home from work to find him crashed out on the couch. He’d just lost another job.

You make enough for both of us, he said, slurring his words.

Dammit, Wayne. I can’t believe this shit. My friends keep telling me I’m a sucker for letting you stay here, that you’re just using me. I don’t want to believe it or them. Maybe I should, I said, glaring at him with disgust. You’re a drunk—and a freeloader.

Ahh, baby, don’t be like that, he said, reaching for me.

I pushed him away. Don’t touch me. You’re nothing but a loser.

He rose up unsteadily and staggered into the spare bedroom. Where are those damn shoes? he said, tripping over his rumpled jeans and socks in the hallway. I kicked ‘em off here last night.

I was hot on his heels. Loser! Drunk! I shoved him hard, knocking him off-balance.

Stunned, he faced me. His bloodshot eyes burned with anger. His fist flew past my head, knocking a hole in the drywall. I felt a rush of air inches from my face.

Don’t ever call me a loser again, he said, panting.

Oddly, I wasn’t frightened. His anger aimed at me hurt worse than a smack.

I think you better leave, I said almost inaudibly.

He didn’t say anything or look at me again that night but just passed out on the floor.

I think the incident scared us both. Wayne wasn’t a violent drunk, but we’d crossed some invisible line. The next day, he patched the drywall before I got home from work and took off to his dad’s place.

And then I got that shriveled up note.

I should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to resist the job at Mt. Holly. Wayne’s duties there included being a ski instructor and lift operator, as well as any other menial jobs the Coneys needed done. In return, he earned a small salary along with the most important job benefit in Wayne’s eyes—skiing as many runs as he could fit in his off hours.

At Mt. Holly, he was somebody. And that job was the longest running one he’d ever had.

He couldn’t stay away from me through an entire ski season, I reasoned. I didn’t take his threat seriously. Yeah, yeah. Go on, keep talking about going to Utah. You worked there every ski season in the past—but that was before you met me.

After I reread the note a few times, I called him at his dad’s place. Wayne, please come back. I didn’t mean what I said. You can move back in with me and stay for good. I won’t kick you out again. Please honey.

I gotta go. I’m sorry.

"Baby, we’ll make it work, I promise. Every couple has disagreements. It’ll be different. I’ll be different, nicer."

I got that job with the Coneys, and they’re counting on me.

"But what about me?" I wailed. I need you too.

Mom’s down from Utah to pack up some stuff and take it back to the farm. I gotta help her load it up. Gotta go. And he hung up the phone.

I felt like the drywall after Wayne’s fist had struck it. Was this really goodbye? Didn’t he care about me anymore? He said he loved me. Didn’t that mean something? How could he choose skiing over staying here with me?

I cried hysterically, longing for him one minute, and then cursing the day he was born. It was best this way for both of us, I rationalized. We were totally unsuitable as partners. But the way he touches me, strokes me.

I was a responsible professional who supported a young son. He, on the other hand, deserted the child from his first marriage and then bummed around the U.S. crashing out with one acquaintance after another before running back to Mommy and Daddy. Maybe I’m too rigid, too uptight. I need to learn how to be more flexible.

He was a financial nightmare. He couldn’t keep a job to save his life, jumping from one job to the next. He’s a house painter, for God’s sake! After he moved in with me, he used his first paycheck to get a tattoo of a black panther on his arm. The scabs were still fresh. But that arm is so strong, so sexy.

We were no good for each other, and the kindest thing he could do was to leave me, never to call me again. Life would go on, and I would get over him. I’d gotten over lots of other men in my life. Losing him would be no big deal. I’d find someone better, someone more stable. I’d return to my life as an independent career woman with lots of interests and friends. I’d devote myself more to Shawn and be a better mother.

I told myself all this as I stuffed my warmest clothes into a duffel bag, called my job to request some vacation time, and made arrangements to leave Shawn with my parents.

I’d always wanted to learn to ski.

Chapter Three: Lassoing My Cowboy

The I-15 freeway was deserted as I drove past Mesquite at two in the morning. My mind was free to wander and to picture Wayne’s sexy smile when I’d pull up in front of the Mt. Holly Lodge in just three short hours. The days we’d been apart felt like weeks. I longed to snuggle in the warmth of his sinewy arms with snow falling outside our little love nest.

Just before I’d gotten on the road, I’d spoken briefly with him on the ski resort’s public phone to let him know of my plans to visit for one week. He assured me that he’d make all the arrangements but warned that the Coneys provided only the barest of accommodations for their staff.

I’m just warnin’ you, that’s all. May not be what you’re expectin’, he said.

I paused a few seconds before responding. No problemo. Just being with you again is all I need.

The turn-off from the main highway to Forest Road 123 took me up the Tushar Mountains road. In every direction I looked, there was striking beauty. Recent rainfall had created a forest lush with green Alpine Spruce trees surrounded by hillsides colored in rust reds, purple, tan, and golden yellow. Just a tinge of frost coated spots along the road. Now I needed to concentrate on the road, which was slippery from patches of ice. I wasn’t used to driving in these conditions, and the tires spun out a couple of times as I rounded the curves.

I’d learned from my Automobile Club brochure that the mountains were named T-shar meaning white in the Piute language and referred specifically to the light encircling the nearby summit peaks. As I drove higher, nearing 12,000 feet, the palpable solitude made plain to me why Wayne loved this area. I was in Nirvana, weaving upwards along the glorious landscape on the way to meet my man. How could I have doubted my decision to join him?

I spotted Wayne, standing by the side of the ski lodge. He hopped from foot to foot, impatiently rubbing his hands together for warmth. He was dressed only in his flannel shirt and a threadbare blue down vest. No wonder he was cold. As he caught sight of my beige Honda Accord, his face brightened.

Hey baby, he said, waving me over to the curve. You made it, huh?

I threw open the car door and leaped into his arms, planting a wet kiss on his eager lips. It was good, so good, to feel him again.

So, where to? I asked, walking to the trunk to get my suitcases. I turned my head from right to left, checking out the nearby, modern ski condos and guest lodges, wondering which one was ours. I can’t wait to wrap my legs around your thighs, Loverboy. It’s been too long.

Slow down, tiger. Remember what I said about staff housing? He grabbed my bags out of the trunk and started walking towards a nondescript, brown building.

I had to walk fast to keep up with him, breathing hard in the high altitude. But where…where ya goin? The lodges are that way. I pointed across the street.

He ignored me. This way to the dorm, he said.

My smile started to fade as I followed him into the facility resembling an Army barracks. We entered through the weather beaten doors to the sound of catcalls.

Hey, Wayne, is this your old lady? Not bad for a ski bum, dude!

Don’t mind those jerks, Wayne said. They’re the guys I work with.

He tossed my luggage down on one of two twin beds that had been slid together. This is it, he said, smiling widely. Welcome to my world.

Uh, Wayne, you mean we’re sleeping here, along with the guys? I spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice low. I didn’t want his buddies to enjoy the scene too much.

Sorry, baby. Job doesn’t pay much. Six bucks an hour, minimum wage… barely keeps me in beer.

I glared at him, wanting to call him a few choice names. Can we talk…outside?

I didn’t drive all the way up here to sleep in your dorm, I said. How are we gonna get any privacy?

He shrugged.

Didn’t ya miss me, baby? Don’t ya wanna get in my pants just as much as I wanna get in yours?

Not so loud, he said, looking around to see if anyone was around. This is the best I can do. Whaddya want from me?

We’re going to get a room, that’s what. I don’t even care. I’ll pay. Go get my stuff and I’ll meet you in the office.

I stomped off towards the lodge motel, casting a longing look at the fancy ski condos nearby. I traded my credit card for the keys to a sparse room on the first floor with no view of the slopes. I don’t care, I told myself. The most important thing is that we spend some time together. It’s no surprise he’s broke.

Wayne showed up with my luggage, looking sheepish. I walked ahead of him to room ten, starting to peel off one of the four layers of clothes I’d been wearing. As soon as he shut the door behind him, I pulled him onto the double bed, growling, Come over here and prove how much you missed me.

The week dragged on slowly. There was no snow yet on Mt. Holly, so my ski lessons were on indefinite hold. Wayne had given me a tour of the ski lifts, but I couldn’t even fathom what the mountains looked like covered with snow. Worse yet for Wayne, the Coneys couldn’t guarantee him work if or when things picked up. Everything was a blur.

Wayne and I spent the week making love like a couple in a war zone. We partied hard with his coworkers, falling into bed drunk and loaded every night. The guys he worked with were mostly young kids in their early twenties who had nothing more to do with their lives than to hang around drinking, smoking pot, and shooting pool.

By the end of the week, Wayne and I were beginning to get on each others’ last nerves. I kept questioning him about his future plans, and he wouldn’t give me the answer I wanted to hear.

It was time to head home. Wayne looked a little too relieved as he set my bags in the trunk of the Honda. He opened the driver’s door and bowed. Your coach, my Queen.

I kicked the door shut, pissed. Why did he look surprised?

I’ve had enough of this bullshit, I spat. You call yourself a man? And about these fools you work with, what are they—like twelve year olds?

Hey, don’t rag on my buddies. You had fun with them, didn’t you? he said, slurring. He had been

sucking on warm beers all day.

C’mon,Wayne. Really? All they do is brag about how many runs they’ve skied at this or that resort, how many bull’s-eyes they shot out at stop signs, and best of all, who got the most wasted without puking. Is this our future? Is there an ‘us’ anymore? Is skiing more important than me? Tears formed in my eyes.

I don’t know, he said, looking down. You know I’m not made for city livin’, workin’ a shitty paintin’ job nine to five.

Dammit,Wayne. I’ve gotta know. I’m leaving with or without you. You can stay in Manderfield with your folks until the snow comes, or you can head back home with me now. It’s your call.

I threw the car door open, sat down behind the wheel, and started up the engine. I swallowed hard, resolving to leave him and never look back.

Give me fifteen minutes to pack, will ya? he said, pushing his hair off his forehead with the back of his hand. He sprinted towards the dorm where I figured he’d gone to pack up his stuff. I sat in the car checking my watch and tapping my foot while the motor ran. How much more of my self-respect can I lose over this man?

I didn’t care. I had no pride. Nothing mattered except him. I needed him like air, like water. My heart pounded, my mouth got dry. Was he coming or not? I didn’t think I could bear driving home without him.

A few minutes later, in my rear view mirror, I saw Wayne racing towards the car carrying his Army duffle. He threw open the passenger door and heaved himself into the car, tossing his bag in the back seat.

He leaned over and pecked me on the cheek. Hit the road, Slick.

A big smile lit up my face.

I was taking my cowboy home.

Chapter Four: Drowning in Love

What the hell have you been doing all day? I hollered at Wayne from the bedroom while changing out of my work clothes.

When I’d come home from work that evening, I’d been horrified by the debris left from cigarette ashes and crumpled beer cans across the coffee table and carpet. Wayne was sitting in his spot on the couch. It already had a permanent indentation from his butt cheeks.

Hey, baby, welcome home to you, too! he called back to me. Now come out here and give your lover a kiss, he slurred.

I came into the living room and started cleaning up the debris. Wayne sat up and reached for me.

Don’t touch me, fool. You stink, I said, kicking him. Did you even try to get a job today?

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, baby. Don’t get your panties all in a knot. I called a coupla guys. May have somethin’ lined up next week. You’ll get your fifty bucks a week, don’t sweat it.

Since returning from Utah, Wayne had established an erratic work history. He’d get jobs but