His finger traced a slow, butterfly touch down the side of my face which sent electrifying currents through my whole body. "So," he said, "how ya' been?"

     Standing side by side, we watched the kids playing over the crest of the hill in the warm sun and gentle breeze of a glorious spring day. Every fiber of my being tingled with awareness of him, tall and young and lean. Suddenly one of the boys looked up.

     "It's Michael!" We could hear Justin's distinct childish cry echoing off in the distance. Then, suddenly, both boys were flying up the hill. They mobbed him in force, all three falling to the ground and rolling over and over. I collapsed in laughter as the dizzy threesome finally righted themselves with bits of twigs and leaves sticking out of their hair and mud on their backsides. Justin clung tenaciously to Michael's leg and he clumped stiff-legged back uphill to join me with his arm circled around Daniel. His eyes were boring holes straight through to my soul. I looked away.

     "Hey, Michael," Sam was obviously pleased to see him. They were good friends. "just passing through or can you stay for dinner? We could get in a little fishing first . . . "

     "Sure," Michael's easy grin greeted my husband, "I'd love to stay."

     The boys both whooped their approval and Daniel turned lopsided cartwheels as all four trooped toward the house to sort out fishing gear for everyone. Slowly, I followed.

     "Just call us when dinner's ready," Sam gave me a quick kiss.

     "Will everyone settle for potato soup, salad, hot pretzels and a cobbler for desert?" I asked.

     "Ahah!" Michael cried, "you know I only come for your pretzels." Again I had to look away from those laser eyes.

     "Boys!" Sam hollered, "wait for us old geezers or you'll scare all the fish away before we even get a line in the water!"

     "Speak for yourself, old man," Michael jabbed Sam in the ribs and sprinted ahead to catch up with the cavorting boys.

     The vision of that carefree, happy group was in direct contrast to my own stormy emotions. Life wasn't fair. Michael was attractive, although no Adonis. He was funny. He was kind and easy to talk to. We shared commonalities. He had all the same qualities that had first attracted me to Sam. Sam and I had enjoyed a beautiful friendship which had blossomed into love that went to the center of my bones. Still.

     I pounded away on my lump of dough, slamming it on the counter and kneading with a vengence, exorcising all the turmoil of emotions in physical action. Why couldn't all those wonderful qualities and beautiful teeth and the laser eyes be directed somewhere else? I wanted to keep the friend. Friendship was so valuable yet so vulnerable to our coniving hearts.

     The fishermen came back with six nice, fat trout which we cleaned and put in the refrigerator for lunch the next day. Dinner was nice. Michael kept us all laughing and no one seemed to be aware of my own private hell. I needed to preserve my family. I WANTED to preserve my family! It was worth holding onto. I had invested twelve years in it. I loved and was loved in return.

     Since his last visit, I had dreamed of Michael at night while laying safely within the protection of Sam's embrace. For six weeks I had fantasized a physical relationship which made my ears burn. I was afraid that Sam would notice my pounding heart and worked to keep my breathing even.

     Now here he was with his feet under my table and his elbows on it, enrapturing my children and savoring my cooking. The food was homey and comforting and the pretzels were particularly good.

     "It comes from thorough kneading," I informed them.

     As the evening dwindled to a close, we had drifted to the living room with our coffee and I listened to the banter of the other four. Michael finally rose to leave when we demanded that the boys get ready for bed. They had refused to leave the room and give up even one moment of time with him.

     "That's OK, guys," his charming grin turned to the boys. "I'll stay for a pillow fight next time I come." They hugged him goodnight and headed for the bathroom.

     Sam draped his arm easily over my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze as we accompanied Michael to the door. Somehow Sam had sensed that I was troubled and was giving me moral support in his own, unspoken way. That's often how we communicated - just a touch.

     "Daaaaaaaaad . . ." Justin's plaintive whine stretched toward us from the back of the house, "Daniel won't let me have the tooth paste. Give it to me . . .!"

     "Sorry," Sam apologized to Michael, retreating to arbitrate the bathroom commotion before it escalated to outright warfare.

     Again the butterfly touch traced its way down the side of my face and continued to my lips, lingering there.

     "Call me," Michael said softly.

     I met his gaze full on.

     "No," I said. Quietly. Flatly. Finally.

     His eyes no longer bored into me. I wouldn't let them. I carefully smiled my normal smile. "Come back when you can, though, you know we all love having you visit." I closed the door and leaned against it momentarily to take a nice slow breath and let my jelly knees regain their strength. I did not look back.

     In the bathroom with Sam and the boys, I didn't even hear Michael's car pull out of the driveway.