Eventually she had learned to ‘get along’, keeping her mouth shut and the river’s secrets deep within her. She sat on her tottering old gray front porch, slowly, evenly rocking in time to some unheard rhythm, watching her river and marking the passage of her years. The sun flickered bronze in the rippling shallows. She looked back to the warm spring night, oh so many yeas ago, her second husband, Donald had insisted they go to the river to bathe. Her first born, Denise, lay asleep in the crib he had fashioned for her of wood from the old lightening-struck live oak out back. He had guided her, shy and reluctant, down to the banks, stripped off his clothing and run to splash in the river, his man-thing flopping around ridiculously. She had followed, though she thought it silly, shyly dropping her crude dress at he rivers edge, and blushing red all over. A woman follows her husband. It is the natural way. Donald had teased her, pointing to her nut-brown nipples, made ice-hard by the. The kids were back at school, none of them complained about the new surroundings or that they had moved away from their friends and everything they knew, instead they talked about new things. Robert was trying out for the football team; Robin wanted to try out for the soccer team. Thomas was always Thomas. He had already found new friends. He was like his father in that sense the two of them had never met a stranger. Jack was getting homeschooled by Teresa. Then there was me. A few of the locals had started asking me out, and for a while I kept shutting them down, telling them I wasn't ready. As I looked down at the three of them playing, I didn't know what kind of football they were playing it seemed like a mix of soccer and football. I started to think was I shutting the men down because of them or was it because I didn't think I was ready yet. Here I was in my mid-forties. Divorced, with four kids, living with my ex-husband's mother. No real job of my own. I was nothing to look.
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