Love Has The Best Intentions by Christine Arness

our refuge in a deserted
conference room to close the file.
    “Bill will never assign another case to me
again,” Andrew chuckled, loosening his tie. “We lost our fee for
the court appearance and I just stood there with my jaw hanging
down to my chest!”
    “I hope they follow up with some type of
professional counselling,” I murmured. Andrew’s presence seemed to
fill the tiny room, confusing me with his nearness. I babbled on.
“I could tell she was reconsidering. Sometimes the process moves
along so fast that the client is unable to think, unable to realize
what they have committed themselves to do.”
    Andrew dropped the slim case folder of the
Chapins’ marital discord on the table and moved a step closer. I
was trembling inside. The shadow of the unanswered proposal hovered
between us as the only barrier.
    My thoughts in a turmoil, I backed away. I
felt compelled to speak—to slice through the glossy façade of the
professional relationship to which we still clung.
    “Let’s forget about the Chapins. I want to
talk about us.”
    Andrew’s eyes were dark with suppressed
emotion; I could sense that he was reaching out to me but I still
fought for freedom.
    “I’m not ready to give you an answer yet. I
need more time!”
    Andrew tried to speak, but I stopped him with
a light touch on his lips. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for such a
change in our relationship. I don’t want what happened to the
Chapins to tear us apart! I’ve seen it happen. I couldn’t bear the
agony of losing you, my teddy bear.” I tried to laugh at the
involuntary pun but tears filled my eyes.
    With compassion, he placed gentle hands on my
shoulders. I bit back a sob of indecision at the warmth generated
by his touch and gazed despairingly at one of the buttons on his
suit coat. If only he’d get angry, roar, break the tension somehow.
Why didn’t he say something?
    A firm hand lifted my chin to meet his eyes
and he spoke quietly and sincerely. “Allyson, honey, listen to
yourself. You want us to draw up a formal contract, a guarantee
that our marriage won’t fail. Love doesn’t bring a guarantee. It
brings a commitment. When I repeat the words “for richer, for
poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part”, it will
be a vow. You have to accept my word. That’s where the trust comes
into being. Love and trust are the only basis for a good, lasting
marriage. There must be a commitment between two people. I can’t
make the commitment on your behalf, sweetheart. I can only offer
you mine.”
    The last brick in the barrier I had built to
protect myself from pain crumbled at his words. My course seemed
blindingly clear; it was as though the sun had suddenly broken
through dark clouds with radiant light.
    “I love you, Teddy Bear. I will accept your
love, your trust and I give you my heart in return,” I
whispered.
    He took me in his arms and I raised my face
for his kiss. The verdict was in; both parties were satisfied with
the result.
    Another attorney flung open the door and we
exploded into helpless laughter, clinging to one another, and
overheard this comment as he slammed it shut.
    “We’ll have to find an empty room,” he
grumbled to an unseen client. “There’s another reconciliation going
on in there. People forget that this is supposed to be a divorce
court!”
     
    THE END
     

 
    Honey, Do You
Love Me?
     
    “Don’t let Sandi run amuck.” Rachel brushed
with a weary hand at a curl which promptly sprang back across her
left eye.
    My niece giggled, alert to the sound of an
unfamiliar word, perhaps picturing mud pies and splashy puddles,
and skipped down the walkway to the car.
    “I’ll keep her on a tight leash,” I promised
my sister.
    Rachel nodded, patting her swollen stomach in
the absent-minded manner of a woman coming to the end of her term,
surprised afresh by her girth and yet, at the same time, reassured
that the baby still moved within its dark, private place.
    I could bear to