Entangled Interaction by Cheyenne Meadows Page A

rest of my life, anyway. After the run-in with Meat a few days earlier, I didn't think I would ever board the dating train again, not sure I even wanted a man to share my evenings anymore.
    "What about this, Mommy?" Chance strode over carrying a large red oxford shirt.
    My breath caught as I realized who it had belonged to.
    A couple years ago, I finally made the initial move forward after Wills' death. It took a while, but I gathered up the courage to pull his clothing from our bedroom closet and place it in cardboard boxes. The boxes had sat there, undisturbed since that day.
    I blinked and sniffed, taking a long moment to consider. "I think now is a good time for those. I would like to see someone appreciate them and get some use from them."
    Sasha opened the opposite closet door where the boxes sat. He and Chance soon had them wiggled out from the confined space and sitting next to the others.
    I glanced from their excited faces to the boxes. Then I scanned the bedroom. Maybe the time had come for more than closet cleaning, but to take another big step in putting the past behind us.
    The next few days became a blur. Pictures came off the wall, being placed in photo albums, the frames wrapped and gently laid in a storage container until they were needed once more. I contacted a painter who dropped by to bid on painting a couple of rooms in the house. The Red Cross came to pick up our boxes. The boys spoke to the volunteer, explaining their reasons and how they wanted to help other kids who needed it. The older gentleman listened intently to them, giving them a smile and a handshake. He thanked them on behalf of his organization as well as the people who would benefit from their charitable donation.
    The boys must have made an impression on the man because he made it a point to write their names and address down after checking with me first. He told me he wanted to let the others back at the main office know about what Sasha and Chance had done. He complimented them heartily and told me what an excellent job I had done to have raised such caring boys.
    The boys walked around so proud of themselves for days. I added to their egos, reminding each how thoughtful they had been. It made my heart swell in knowing that such compassion existed in ones so young. They saw a need and gave up something of their own, whatever they could, in order to help.
    By that time, the painter visited, changing my room from off-white to more of a robin's egg blue. The boys had chosen a light green to replace the pastel blue that had been their nursery base color. We ventured out to the home store, purchasing new curtains and bed linens to accent the new décor. I even sprung for a new bed, donating the old one to a worthy cause.
    Later that day, I stood in my bedroom appraising the new look. No more pictures of the past remained. The bed linens were now a butterfly print, reminding one of spring and new life. A painting of the mountains just after a winter snow now hung over the bed, while a couple of floral prints brought out the colors in the room. My closet, newly organized, had tons of room. I feared missing the old look, but realized the new colors, the freshness felt right, as if I turned over a new leaf.
    Determined to keep the motto of finding my new life, I agreed to finally meet a persistent Jasmine at the club. A week had passed since the incident. She begged, threatened, and harassed until I completely ran out of excuses.
    Jessica prodded me to go, volunteering to watch the boys so I could get out of the house for a few hours. She clucked over me, admonished my self-isolation, and lectured me often about time passing me by.
    My assent earned a squeal of delight from Jasmine as well as a promise to make the night into a celebratory gift from the whole Familia to me. I protested, to no avail. She bore the same stubborn streak as her brother.
    Speaking of Meat, my feelings washed back and forth like a ship on the ever-changing tides. One