[[[-IF6-P2.TXT-]]]


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Island Fever 6: Sanctuary
Written by: JeremyDCP@hotmail.com

M/F, F/F and a whole lot more
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Chapter 02: "Refuge"
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            -*-  Monday, September 26, 2016  -*-
        -*-  41,000 Feet Over The Caribbean Sea  -*-


   I stretched and yawned, flexing my leg muscles, trying to
rid myself of a slight cramp in my right calf.  I was overly
tired, but despite the fact it was 2:47am in the morning, I
had too much on my mind at the current moment to even consider 
falling asleep.  I was worried, antsy, concerned... fearful.
   Yesterday afternoon, in the middle of our family vacation
on the island, Devon received a telephone call from her
younger brother, Seth, informing her that their mother had
suffered an apparent heart attack and was being taken to a
nearby hospital in her old stomping grounds of Allentown,
Pennsylvania.  I made the necessary arrangements with our
private flight crew, who were still (fortunately) sightseeing
in Lima after dropping us off there last Wednesday, and got
Devon and I in the air and on the way to Philadelphia as soon
as possible last evening.  Had another day passed, Captain
Mike and his crew would be vacationing in Hawaii until it was
time for our family to return home to Norway several weeks
from now.  And getting to Pennsylvania in a swift, timely
manner would have proven to be much more difficult.
   Having departed our one and only layover, a quick stop at
the _José Joaquín de Olmedo International Airport_ in
Guayaquil, Ecuador for refueling two hours ago, Devon and I
were now on a beeline to Philadelphia.  We were aboard our
private family jetliner, an _Airbus A319 ACJ_, with Captain
Mike and his crew at the controls.  Our flight was scheduled
to touch down at 7:33am, which was nearly five hours from now,
but I still doubted that I would get any sleep at all.
   It was difficult to leave the rest of my wives, not to
mention all of my children, to fend for themselves back on
the island.  It was especially rough explaining to Kaden and
Piper (the two oldest kids) that their Daddy had to go on an
urgent trip, and had no idea when he (I) would return.  Both
of them became upset and those emotions then boiled over to
the younger infants.  When Devon and I left the island last
evening, it was a screaming madhouse.  I felt guilty for my
other wives, as well as Alison, having to deal with that.  I
felt doubly horrible for my kids, having to leave them.
   The decision was made that no one other than Devon and
yours truly would be going on the trip to the United States.
With the children having traveled 7,100 miles on a series of
airline flights just five days ago, we felt it would not be a
good idea to tack another 3,500 onto that just yet.  The trip
was a struggle for many of them, and it was best that they
stay behind on the island with their respective mothers while
Devon and I visited her own mother in Pennsylvania.
   But something else was at play here.  Yes, Devon was quite
concerned for the health and well being of her mother, Eileen,
who was 58 years of age and had a history of heart problems.
There was something more, though.  Devon had been acting very
strangely since receiving that telephone call from her brother
yesterday.  Again, Devon was concerned for her mother, yes,
but the more prominent emotions she had been displaying seemed
to be anger and extreme irritation.  But at what?  And why?
   Devon, at least to my knowledge, had zero contact with
anyone from her immediate family since first arriving on the
island well more than three years ago, in June 2013.  She had
seemingly sworn off the idea of ever seeing her three siblings
again, as well as her mother and father.  If I even brought up
the subject with her, or any of her wives did, Devon would
typically become angry and eventually storm off in a rage.  She
wanted no part of a reunion with them, and had given us very
few details as to why.  The massive rift between her and her
family was a great mystery to me.  To us.
   Perhaps with this trip, I would finally get some answers.
Some insight.  Hell, I did not even know the name of Devon's
mother (Eileen) until a few hours ago.  She was my wife and
we had been together for more than three years, yet Devon
kept details of her family so close to the vest that I did
not even know her mother's name until just a short time ago.
I knew nothing of Seth, or her other brother (Michael), and
had heard very few details about her older sister, Denise.
Something major had to be at the root of their problems.
   "Ugh, hmmmmm," Devon grunted, rousing awake, her arm
draped over top of me as we lounged together in the luxury
bedroom aboard our private aircraft.  Custom built from
front to back, this jetliner had nearly every amenity that
one could find in a five-star resort.  All of the extra bells
and whistles cost me a pretty penny, but it was well worth it.
And this skyway bedroom felt like a grand hotel suite.
   I turned my head and offered a slight smile at the half
open blue eye looking back at me.  "Go back to sleep,
honey.  You don't need to be up now.  We got a long way to
go still.  Not even over the Atlantic Ocean yet."
   "Did anyone call with an update while I was sleeping?"
Devon asked, reaching for her cell phone.
   "No," I answered, and Devon tossed her phone onto the bed
in anger.  Aboard our private, family aircraft, Captain Mike -
my well-paid employee - was not going to scold us for using
our cell phones while in the air.  Although against most
aviation laws, interference with the plane's navigation system
from cell phones was actually quite negligible at best.  It
would not affect his ability to pilot the aircraft at all,
especially with us being in the rear portion.
   "Your mother is in the intensive care unit; they are
keeping a close eye on her.  Any news at all, someone would
have called you.  We will see her in the morning."  I wrapped
an arm around Devon and tried to nuzzle her close, but she
suddenly jerked away from me as if my touch had burned her.
So unlike Devon at all.  I was caught off-guard, but kept my
calm demeanor.  Still, what the hell was going on with her?
Why was she so on edge?  Why was she acting this way?
   "Go back to sleep," I quietly reiterated.  "You were out
for the past 45 minutes.  You need more rest."
   Unhappy with my suggestion, Devon sat up in bed and kicked
the blankets away, but then covered herself and shivered as if
she was freezing.  Suddenly, my wife appeared like she was
about to cry.  "I... I don't..."
   "Your mom is going to be fine," I insisted, sitting up as
well and wrapping my arms around her in a warm, loving embrace.
But just like before, Devon rejected my touch, bolting away and
now glaring at me as if her eyes were set to explode, almost
as if I was a stranger who tried to touch her inappropriately.
Devon had never once acted this way around me.
   "What is wrong with you?"  It was the only thing I could
say at this moment.  Everyone handled situations of crisis
differently, in their own unique way, but how often did one
seem utterly repulsed when a loved one tried to console them?
My God, I just wanted to hold and comfort Devon.
   "I don't... I don't want... to go... back... to Allentown."
   "What?"
   Devon was really struggling now.  So much so, in fact, she
was no longer making any sense to me.  Devon did not want to
return to her original hometown?  She did not want to see her
very own mother, who lay weak and frail in a hospital bed?
What exactly was the issue here?  Why did she feel this way?
   "I don't... I can't..."
   "What is going on with you?" I insisted.  "Your mother is
sick and she needs you.  Talk to me, Devon."  I reached out,
this time very tentatively, but Devon again shied away from
the contact.  In fact, with a highly distressed look upon her
face, Devon stood up from the bed and backed off.  She wanted
no part of any physical contact with me right now.
   "Tell me what is going on," I begged her.  "Please."  Was
Devon so upset and distraught over her mother's illness that
it was causing her to act this irrational?  I did not want to
say that to her, though, in case she may become angry at me.
"Devon, you're my wife and I love you.  Talk to me."
   Devon hesitated and, for the briefest of moments, I thought
she was going to open up and discuss what her exact issues
were.  Excluding the shroud of secrecy that she always seemed
to have in regards to her family, Devon and I had usually been
able to open up and discuss any problems or issues we had.  I
told her all about my family in the past, my various issues 
with them.  I simply wanted to be here for her, and help.
   But just when it seemed that Devon was about to speak, she
instead let out a loud, harrowing cry, and rushed into the
adjacent washroom and locked its door behind her.  I sprung
up immediately, pounding on the door with my fist, demanding
that she open up and talk to me.  I heard her crying on the
other side.  What in the hell was going on?  Did I actually do
something wrong to her?  I honestly had no idea.
   Truth be told, I had a key at my disposal and could have
forced my way in, but decided not to.  Perhaps it was best
that I allow Devon some time alone to process and deal with
whatever it was that was affecting her.
   Maybe?
   Upset, I retreated to the bed and sat back down.  My body
trembling, I listened as Devon began to cry uncontrollably.
It may have been the middle of the night, but there was really
one thing left that I felt as I could possibly do.
   I needed to get Kristanna on the telephone.

                           * * *

   Following the most peculiar and bizarre airline flight of
my life, Devon and I arrived at _Lehigh Valley Hospital_, via
rental car, in Allentown, Pennsylvania at 9:44am on Monday
morning.  Much later than I had anticipated or hoped for, but
we were finally here regardless.  And just as I thought, I did
not get any sleep at all during the long and grueling trip.
   We entered the hospital and Devon knew exactly where to go
in order to find the intensive care unit (ICU), where her
mother had been admitted to yesterday.  Devon, having spent
the first 27 years of her life in the area, had clearly been
to this hospital several times before.  She guided me through
the halls in no time flat; at least, to the ICU waiting room.
   "Denise!" Devon exclaimed, causing a dark-haired woman, in
the corner, to jump out of the haggard daze she had apparently
slipped into.  Denise?  Devon's older sister?  The two ladies
made a mad, frantic dash toward each other and hugged fiercely.
A man had been sitting with Denise in the waiting room, and he
slowly got out of his chair.  He looked exhausted, too.
   "Is Mom okay?  Is she going to make it?" Devon demanded.
But Denise was suddenly crying, which caused Devon to become 
upset as well.  "Please answer me, Denise.  God, answer me!"
   "Mom is in a very bad way right now," Denise responded.  "I
don't know what to do.  Seth is pacing around.  Michael is
sitting outside, refusing to come in.  I feel helpless!"  She
hugged Devon to her again.  "I'm so glad that you're here.  I
am so glad that you're finally back home with us."
   The man - I suppose he was not one of her two brothers -
came around and squeezed Devon's hand.  Denise's husband,
perhaps?  Oh, this was so awkward for me.
   "What is the exact update on Mom?" Devon asked.
   Denise shook her head.  "Her heart is not working by itself.
There was a lot of damage done to it by the heart attack.  She
is on a ventilator and some other devices.  The doctor said so
much stuff, I don't really remember it all."
   "The cardiologist feels there is real cause for concern,"
the man chimed in.  "She told us to gather family, Devon.  So,
I think you may want to prepare yourself."
   Devon closed her eyes as a cold, sharp chill crept down my
spine.  Prepare?  Her mother may not survive this?
   "I'm Denise," the woman said, extending her hand to me.
"You must be Jeremy.  Devon has told me a lot about you."
   She has?  Really?  I was under the impression that Devon 
had literally severed all ties with her family.  Only a great
catastrophe - such as her mother being the victim of a heart
attack - could give them the briefest of reconciliations.
Yet, Denise had heard _a lot_ about me?  For real?
   "It is nice to meet you as well," I told Denise, shaking
her hand, but stealing a quick sideways glance toward Devon.
Apparently, not all was what I had been led to believe...
   "This is my husband, Jason," Denise said, introducing me
to him.  "We've been here for 18 hours straight.  Jason, this
is Jeremy, I suppose.  He is Devon's husband."  Denise looked
elsewhere, and sighed.  "Oh, there's Seth."
   I turned and watched as another man, this one younger,
quickly approached us and brought Devon to him in a bear hug.
Seth?  Her brother?  The one who called with the news about
their mother yesterday?  How come I had never met any of
these people in the past?  And how come Denise, apparently,
knew _a lot_ about me?  I knew very little about her.  Just
that she was smart, and someone Devon once looked up to.
   "Dev..." Seth gushed, emotion pouring out of him.  "It's
been over three years!  I've missed you so much!"  He pulled
away, but looked at her intently.  "Why didn't you come to
the funeral back in February?"  There was hurt in his voice.
Wait.  A funeral?  Whose funeral?  "It really hurt Mom that
you chose not to come, or even acknowledge it."
   Devon glanced at me for a split-second, trying to hold her
emotions in check, and then re-focused on her brother.  "Now
is not the time for this, Seth.  I want to see Mom."
   "We are only allowed visitation for a few moments every
hour," Denise informed her.  "I will take you."
   "No," Devon said, wiping the excess moisture from her face.
"I want to go with Jeremy.  I want him to see Mom, meet her...
before it is maybe too late."
   Denise nodded, understanding wholeheartedly.  "Of course.
Third door on your left when you go into the ICU."
   Devon latched onto my hand and guided me through the
double doors that led to the intensive care unit.  Nurses
and doctors were quiet, but moving about and seemed quite
busy.  I had flashbacks to visiting Ariel, my daughter with
Kristanna, in the hospital all those times after she was
born.  It was not a pleasant memory.  Nor was the sight of
Devon seeing her mother's name on a chart next to the
doorway of the third room.  She seemed terrified to go in.
   But... funeral?  Whose funeral?  There was a funeral back
in February, Seth said, and Devon skipped it?  February of
this year?  How could she skip a funeral if it was a family
member, no matter the dispute and tribulations she had with
them?  A cousin she did not get along with, perhaps?  By 
skipping the funeral, Devon had hurt her mother, upset her.  
Why would my own wife not tell me about it?

   I wanted so much to ask, but now was not the time.

   Entering the room, machines were beeping, computer screens
were monitoring vital signs and the ventilator was whooshing.
In the middle of it was this tiny, frail woman, so helpless
and still.  Whatever problems Devon had with her disappeared
just like that, at least momentarily, as she went to her
mother as if she was a magnet.  A loud, shrieking cry tore
from Devon's throat, but she covered her mouth to muffle the
noise.  Devon tried to catch her breath; she eventually looked
down at her mother and took her swollen, seemingly lifeless
hand into her own and squeezed lovingly.
   "Hi, Mom."  Devon swallowed, obviously unsure what to
say.  "You went to a lot of trouble, I see, to get me to
finally come back home to visit you."
   Devon and I had not spoken much at all since her little
blow-up earlier, when she went into the aircraft washroom
somewhere over the Caribbean Sea and locked its door behind
her.  Devon kept herself barricaded in there for a good three
hours before finally coming out, only to refuse to talk to
me afterward.  She would not tell me the root of her very
odd behavior.  I was so confused about this whole situation
and had already started to become more than a bit angry.
   Yet I reached forward, as if on impulse, and barely touched
Devon's shoulder in a show of love and support.
   "You need to fight through this and get better, okay?" Devon
quietly told her mother, sleeping, or perhaps even unconscious
and kept afloat only by the machines.  "We all need you, Mom.
That heart of yours has to start working on its own.  Your
grandbabies, Matthew and Hunter, need you.  Do you hear me?
Denise, Michael, Seth... they all need you.  And what about
me?  Who is going to constantly harass and pester me on
_Facebook_ like you do about finally coming back home for a
visit?  That's your job and..."
   Devon tried to finish the sentence, but the tears and the
emotions of the moment overtook her, and her resolve caved in.
She lowered her head, resting it on her mother's wrist.  The
tears now fell freely down her face as she quietly sobbed.
   I never felt more empathy for Devon than I did at that very
moment in time.  It did not matter that she and I had just
experienced the airline flight to end all airline flights,
and everything that was happening, everything that was being
said, was confusing me to all ends.  I hated to consider this,
but had Devon been entirely honest with me?  That was a
thought that was beginning to creep up.  Had she been totally
upfront and honest with me about whatever secrets the past
held?  Had she been honest about other aspects of her life, our
life together, as well?  Yet Devon was my wife; I had pledged
my soul, my existence to her.  And she needed me now, perhaps,
more than ever before.  Answers could come at another time.
   I knelt down behind Devon and encircled her with both arms.
She brought a hand up to my elbow, just beneath her neck, and
now began sobbing uncontrollably.
   "I am here for you, Devon, in any way that you need me."
   "Mom has to be okay!" Devon cried.  "She just has to!"

   Moments later, I escorted Devon back out to the waiting
room with a hand on her shoulder.  She again hugged Denise,
then sat down next to her with Seth on the opposite side.
The three siblings all joined hands and when Denise began
praying, her eyes closed, Devon and Seth followed suit.
   I settled in for what proved to be a very long day.  I
joined Jason, Denise's husband, in playing butler, refilling
coffee cups and drinks, and bringing food from the cafeteria
for everyone.  We did our best to make sure the siblings
were comfortable.  I spent an inordinate amount of time
staring at the wall, the clock, the assortment of magazines
on the table in front of us and the depressed, forlorn faces
of all those around me.  There was no news about Eileen.
   I sent a text message to Kristanna, updating her and the
rest of my wives as best I could.  I had no idea how long
Devon and I would be in Pennsylvania, but Pamela was the one
who responded and put my mind at ease.  She told me to take
care of Devon; everyone back on the island was fine.  They
missed us and loved us, but insisted we stay here as long as
necessary until Devon's mother was in good health again.
   As the hours ticked on by, Devon finally stood and ran a
hand throughout her hair.  She was about to go stir crazy.
"Where exactly is Michael?"  She was referring to her other
brother.  "I don't want him to be alone.  He should be in
here with us.  I want to talk to him; see him."
   Denise squirmed about in the uncomfortable plastic chair.
"You know how Michael is, Devon.  He's outside, as I said,
on a park bench.  Refuses to come inside; too scared."
   "Thanks.  I want to see that he is okay."  And with that,
Devon turned and headed for the exit.  I got up and followed
her to the door and watched from the other side of the glass as
she approached a young man not too far from the ambulance bay,
hunched over on a bench, sideways hat in place and earbuds
implanted.  Was this short, stout kid actually her brother?
   Devon sat next to Michael, I assumed, on the bench,
prompting him to remove his earbuds and nod at her.  The two
appeared to exchange simple greetings, but then sat there in
total silence for a bit.  Why did they choose not to hug?
Judging by his face, Michael was definitely Devon's brother.
He looked similar to Seth, only shorter, and not as muscular.
But Seth, I suddenly remember being told years ago, was once
a champion collegiate wrestler.  So I actually did know
something about him beforehand.
   I felt so lost, so out of place.  I could tell that there
was deep tensions between Devon and her family, yet I had no
idea why.  Surely it was not because of a single mistake that
she had made while in high school some 15 years ago.  Right?
Or was it really tension?  Could it be something else?  Could
I be totally off track here?  Oh, it was something, trust me,
but perhaps I was looking at things from the wrong angle.
   Denise, Seth and Michael.  Their mother, Eileen.  The great
yet simple mystery of being able to put faces to names was now
solved, at least.  Devon's sister, two brothers, and mother.  I
had also met Jason, Denise's husband, and was told stories and
shown pictures of their two young children, Matthew and Hunter.
Hunter, a girl, reminded me of Dani Grace in many ways.
   They seemed like a nice group of people, at least.  Denise
and Seth appeared close.  Why couldn't I have that type of 
strong, tight bond with my own sister?  Why did Di, as well as
my brother Dan, detest me for the decisions I had made in life?
Why were they so against my marriage choices, even though I 
was, for once in my life, happy?  I was finally happy.

   And then, a thought hit me.  It smacked me across the face.

   Even more confused, I then glanced out and noticed that
Devon was walking arm-in-arm with Michael back toward the
hospital entrance.  "I convinced him to come inside and wait
with us," she proclaimed, slowly strolling past me.  I got a
good, close-up glimpse of Michael.  Oh my God, I thought to
myself.  I knew that look.  A crooked mouth, teeth that were
not aligned.  He seemed totally withdrawn, not wanting to
cope with his mother's sickness.  Michael had been sitting
outside, all alone, for hours.  Those were symptoms.  He
immediately made me think of a cousin I had in Indiana.
   Wow, I had not seen or even thought of Kimberly in 25
years.  But Michael reminded me of her when he walked by.
Kimberly, my cousin, had been diagnosed with Down syndrome
when she was just an infant.  Did Michael have it, too?
   But, that was not the more pressing thought on my mind at
the moment.  It was not the thought that literally punched me
square in the face.  No, that was something I just realized
seconds ago.  Denise, Seth, Michael, the siblings.  Eileen,
the mother.  Extended family in Jason.  But...
   "Where is your father?" I said out loud, eyeing Devon, as
she disappeared around the corner with Michael latched onto
her arm.  I had yet to meet her father, and no one had even
mentioned a word of him all day.  Surely, Devon's father would
be here in support of Eileen.  Wouldn't he?

                           * * *

   Standing in the living room of the blue-and-white house
where Devon grew up, I felt quite mesmerized, yet even more
irritated at the same time.  Photographs of Devon, from
various ages, were set up on the mantelpiece and hung on
the walls of the living room.  Stuffed animals, momentos
from proms, and all of the other collected treasures from
her childhood and high school years were in place.  The
living room, though in a state of disarray at the moment (it
was quite messy) was a virtual shrine to Devon.
   I picked up a framed photograph and inspected it.  Devon,
perhaps, from 10 years ago?  A 20-year-old Devon?  In the
photograph, her hair was much shorter than it was at the
current time.  Blonde, barely shoulder-length.  Was that a
slight overbite?  She had definitely aged wonderfully.
   Yet standing in this living room, I suddenly realized that
I had never saw a photograph of my very own wife from before
we made our initial contact in 2012 when she first inquired,
through the mail, about coming to the island.  How many
husbands out there have never seen a photograph of your wife
from when she was growing up?  As a little girl?  Posing with
her brother(s) and sister(s)?  Her senior portrait?
   None of that for me.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.

   Until now.

   Perhaps I truly was a bad husband, but despite the fact
Devon's mother was still laying in the intensive care unit
with no change from earlier, I was past the point of being 
angry.  I was furious.  Why had I been left out in the cold
about Devon's family, her past, for so long?  Why, after 
being married for as long as we had, was I just now seeing 
pictures of her from when she was younger?  Why did it take 
something as horrible as her mother suffering a near fatal 
heart attack for Devon to finally acknowledge her family 
once again, and visit them?  Why had she always been so damn 
secretive about them whenever the topic arose?
   But what made me the most livid was the fact that I felt
as if Devon had not been totally upfront and honest with me.
What was the problem she had with her family?  Why the rift?
Why was she acting so strange and irrational on the airline
flight earlier?  Why did she seem repulsed by me at times?
   Surely, it had to be something much more dramatic and
far-reaching than experimenting with drugs once in high
school.  Devon told me shortly after we met that her parents
basically disowned her in 2002 for that one incident, and
never let her live it down.  Yet, that made no sense to me.
What about her sister, her two brothers?  Did they disown
Devon as well?  No.  There was just something missing.  The
key to the story; what had been held back from me.  For years.
   "Can we leave?" Devon hissed at me, hurrying into the
living room and snatching the framed photograph from my hand.
She set it back atop the mantelpiece, but then took a deep,
controlled breath, as if to corral her emotions.  "Michael
is in his room, finally sleeping.  I just want to go to the
hotel and get some sleep of my own before we're back at the
hospital first thing in the morning."
   Devon volunteered to take Michael, who had certain mental
disabilities that were more complex than I originally thought,
home when he complained earlier of being at the hospital for
too long.  The three of us actually stopped at a roadside
diner and got a bite to eat, then we arrived here and Devon
saw him off to bed.  Michael was 22, but totally dependent on
living in his family home, being in a structured environment.
He was quite shy, but began talking to me a bit by the end of
the night.  I was happy that he felt comfortable around me.
   "Tell me what's going on," I said to my 30-year-old wife,
impatient.  "I don't want to be in the dark any longer."  Truth 
be told, Devon and I had limited one-on-one interactions since
the airline flight earlier.  She barely said a word to me en
route to the hospital, but we put up a facade of sorts for
her siblings.  Still, we spoke sparingly throughout the day.
   "Now is not the time for..."
   "Whose funeral did you skip back in February?" I demanded
to know, cutting her off.  "Why didn't you tell any of us
about a funeral?  I would have made sure..."
   "NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS, JEREMY!" Devon growled at
me, raising her voice.  "My brother is very sick, and we're
going to wake him, upset him, if we continue arguing!"
   "Why do I know NOTHING of your past?" I asked, though my
voice was quite lower than before.  "Tell me, Devon.  Please.
What are you holding back from me?"
   Devon vehemently shook her head.  "It doesn't concern you."

   Ouch.  And, wow...

   Really?  Devon's issue does not concern me?
   "I want to see your old bedroom before we go," I suddenly
said.  Very uncharacteristic for me, indeed, but I could play
the _jerk card_ as well as anyone when provoked.  "Show me.
I bet your room hasn't changed since the time you moved out.
At least let me see a brief glimpse of your past life."
   "You're starting to make me REALLY ANGRY, Jeremy!"  Oh,
Devon was spewing fire now.  She was such a nice and sweet
girl, so soft-spoken, yet had a legendary temper of her own.
The dragon was out in full force in response to my words.
   "I'm starting to make YOU angry?" I retorted.  "Really?
I'm not the one who has kept secrets and been dishonest for
the past three years.  If ANYONE has a right to be angry, it
is ME.  Not YOU, but me.  Now fess up, Devon!"
   "My mother could very well be on her death bed and here
you are, Jeremy, wanting to start a fight!"  Devon raised her
hand and was about to say something else, but then stormed
out of the house in a hurry.  Perhaps it was best that we
take this elsewhere, so Michael would not be disturbed.
   "WHY DON'T YOU GO BACK TO THE ISLAND?" Devon roared at me
when I followed her outside.  "I should have just come here
and dealt with everything myself!"  She opened the passenger
door of our rental car.  "Or better yet, got Krissy to come
along with me instead!"  And then, Devon got into the vehicle
and slammed its door shut as hard as she possibly could.
   I ran over to the driver side, ready with a hot, scathing
rebuttal of my own, but suddenly thought better of it.
Cooler heads had to prevail here.  Devon's mother was very
ill.  How could I be talking to her in such a tone right now?
How could I be yelling and screaming, making accusations?
   "Devon, you're my wife, and I love you," I said in a soft,
gentle voice, opening the driver side door and settling in
beside her.  "I don't want to argue anymore.  I just want you
to tell me the truth.  What is going on here?"
   "Do you know how hard it is for me, right now, to be back
here in Pennsylvania?" she countered, ready to break down and
cry yet again.  "I never thought I would have to come back to
this Godforsaken place after I met you and Krissy three years
ago.  I SWORE I would never come back here!  Yet... here I am.
I have such horrible, nasty memories of my childhood!  I had
put everything behind me, creating a new life with you, with
Krissy and the other girls.  But now, I'm back... and all
those memories, that pain, the hurt... I... I feel it again."
   "What is it, Devon?" I pleaded with her.  "What, exactly?
PLEASE.  I just want to help.  I want to be here for you."
   Devon seemed lost in thought for a moment, as if she was
recalling a memory, and then tears began streaming down her
face.  I reached out to caress her, to comfort and console
her, but she jerked away as if my touch was toxic poison.
Just like earlier on the airplane.  "DON'T TOUCH ME!" she
erupted in response, curling up into a fetal position in the
seat and looking away.  Then, Devon was sobbing like mad.
   Mortified, I glared at her for several seconds, then
started the car and drove off.  It was time to check into
the hotel and get some rest.  I was floored; speechless.
And I was done with Devon for the night.
   Could this trip ultimately turn out to be the beginning of
the end of my relationship, my marriage, with Devon?

                           * * *

   Fortunately, the hotel room I had previously booked was a
two bedroom suite.  It was the only one that this particular
hotel had available on such short notice.  
   Again, Devon did not say another word to me as I drove her 
to the _Homeward Suites - Hilton_ in the very center of 
Allentown.  I checked us into our room and when Devon tossed 
her suitcase and belongings on top of one bed, I very wisely
decided to claim the other in the far, opposite room.  To say 
the atmosphere, the mood between us, was tense, would be quite
an understatement.  I actually felt uncomfortable; as if,
yes, perhaps I should have stayed on the island after all.
   "I'm going to call Krissy and touch base with her," Devon
told me in a very short, terse tone.
   "That's fine.  I'm taking a shower."  My words were no
more friendly.  I retired to the smaller bedroom and actually
sunk into a nice, hot bath.  I was so damn tired; a 3,500
mile airline trip, ten hours in the waiting room and all of
the trouble, the bickering and uncertainty, with Devon.  On
top of everything, I had been awake for 42 hours straight.
   I did not want my first (and perhaps only) visit ever to
Devon's hometown to be like this.  How could I have argued
with Devon while her very own mother was in the hospital?
Yet how could she hiss and snap at me, like a rattlesnake,
when all I really wanted to do was help her?  Good God,
where was that famous smile of hers?  Devon was usually cool
and laid-back; happy-go-lucky as anyone could possibly be.
   Why the sudden change in her personality, her demeanor?
It was difficult for Devon to be back here in Pennsylvania,
she told me in the car.  Never thought she would have to
come back here again.  Something about a nasty childhood.
Had built an entirely new life with yours truly, Kristanna
and the others, and put whatever happened in the past behind
her.  But now, she was having to deal with it all over again.
Thus, her reason for wanting to avoid Pennsylvania so much.
   Perhaps sleeping in different bedrooms tonight would be
the best thing possible for us.  In the morning, maybe I
could actually talk to Devon and get her to open up a bit.
   Once safely tucked away underneath the blankets, I sighed,
thinking what a horrible day this had been from start to
finish.  I glanced to the side, and saw my reflection in
the mirror.  "You," I said to myself, "are a bad husband.
How can you talk to Devon the way you did?"
   I needed to think this through from a few different
perspectives and then come up with a plan that would help
push us through the first real roadblock in our marriage
so our life could be normal and happy again.  Maybe.  But
what?  How?  How could I possibly break down that barrier
she had up around her?  The morning.  I would think about
it more in the morning.  Right now, I needed sleep.

   I had just dozed off, but a knock on the bedroom door
brought me back to reality.  When the door opened, Devon
stood there, her face racked with tears and guilt.  I sat up
and my initial impulse was to go over and hug her, comfort
her, but I figured that may not be the best idea right now.
Not after the way she had been acting throughout the day.
   Devon looked at me and covered her mouth momentarily,
before a new flow of tears hit.  Slow at first, and then
full on.  They rolled down her cheeks as she removed her
hand from her mouth, and tried desperately to speak.
   "All... all of... all of my memories... here... are...
they're bad," Devon managed, trying to compose herself.  She
took a step toward me, perhaps offering an olive branch of
peace between us.  "I did not have a normal, typical
childhood, Jeremy.  I... from the time I was little, all I
wanted... all I wanted... was to get out of here.  I moved
out, got an... an apartment with a friend... the day... the
day I turned... 18.  Even before graduating from high school.
But I... I was still here.  Still in the area.  Still...
close enough that... that HE came to visit me often."
   Did Kristanna put Devon up to this?  Was Devon finally
talking to me because of her telephone call to Kristanna?
   "I never once lied to you, Jeremy.  Never have I been
dishonest with you in any possible way.  Have I volunteered
everything about my past to you?  No, I haven't.  But you...
you have to understand how... deeply personal, private and
pet-petrifying... some secrets can... can be... to share."
   Oh dear God; I wanted to hug Devon so much right now.
   "I have been leading a fairy-tale life for the past
three years thanks to you and Krissy," she continued.
"Our marriage, our relationship with all of the others, is
far from conventional, but it is the best thing that ever
happened to me.  Bar none.  In many ways, Jeremy, I have led
two separate lives.  The first one, I have tried to bury,
forever keep in the past.  And until yesterday, when I got
that telephone call from Seth, I... had been able to do that.
The second life, my current life, which makes me happier
than I have any right to be, began the day I met you.  I... I
was given a fresh start, a clean slate... everything... new.
And with you, I have... everything... a girl could... want."
   Devon took a deep, ragged breath.  "That funeral you asked
about earlier?  The one I skipped?"  She hesitated for a
moment, but then sighed.  "My father died earlier this year
of lung cancer.  It was his funeral that I skipped."  I made
a motion to move toward her, but again held back.  Devon's
father had died of lung cancer?  Just this year?  Why the
hell didn't she let me know about it?  How could she keep
something like that from me?  From her wives?  How could
Devon possibly choose not to attend her own father's funeral?
   "I HATED my father from the time I was a little girl,"
she added, sniffing her nose, a look of remorse on her face.
"I did not care that he died.  My mom, Denise, Seth... they
all tried to get me to come back for the funeral, say goodbye
to him.  Dad died on February 15th.  I told them... no.  I
did not want to come back here ever again.  They... knew why."
   "I... I was upset for a day or two, but kept it bottled up
inside of me.  I did not let anyone know.  Not you, Jeremy,
not Krissy, not Scarlett."  Devon forged her first real smile
of the day, although it was short-lived.  "Scarlett and I have
gotten really close in the past year."  She then returned to
the topic at hand, saying, "I knew that if I told anyone back
home, you all would insist that I... that I come back h-h-here
to... to... Penn-Pennsylvania... for the funeral.  And I..."
Tears ran down Devon's face once again, the emotion shaking
her entire body.  "I would... I would have a lot of explaining
to do, a l-lot of th-things to confess, like... like now."
   "Walking into that house earlier," Devon continued,
snatching a blanket from my bed and clutching it to her,
"felt like it was 1990 all over again.  I... I saw ghosts...
faces from the past, images from the past.  I... I walked by
my old bedroom, and I heard... I heard... my father's voice.
It was night and he... he was coming... to see me... again...
just like old times... when I... I was... a... little girl."

   Oh no...

   "I... I can't handle being here," Devon professed, starting
to sob once more.  "I... I want to be here, for my mom... but
it's... it's so difficult.  I have been mad at her for years,
too, because she never once did anything to... to stop him.
But in reality, Mom was... just as scared of him... as I was."
   "Scared of what?"  But I already knew the answer.
   "Jeremy," Devon said resolutely, taking a deep breath.
She stood tall, brave, obviously drawing every last ounce of
strength and courage from within her soul.  How difficult was 
it for Devon to finally admit to me what she spent so many 
years trying to repress within her own subconscious?
   Finally, my wife said the words that I somehow knew she 
was going to.  The words that I dreaded.  The puzzle was
complete, and I did not like the end result whatsoever.
   "My fa-father... he... m-m-m-mo-molested me... from the
time I was four, all the way... until I moved out... when I
was 18."  Devon fell down to the floor, stricken with guilt
and shame, as I stared back at her in total, abject horror...


                <<<- End of Chapter 02 ->>>


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"Island Fever 6: Sanctuary"

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