The next day, a few minutes before one o'clock in the afternoon, Will was in his office at Hyndland, taking his lunch break alone because he didn't have cafeteria duty and he hadn't joined any of his fellow faculty members in the faculty lounge. He was trying to figure out what music he wanted each of his choirs to start practicing for a competition that would be occurring in about two months' time, and he'd decided that he needed to get it done as quickly as possible. Therefore, he was sifting through all the music he had in the library attached to his office, trying to see what would be most suitable for each of his choirs.

As he took a bite of the chicken salad sandwich Stacey had made for him that morning, he opened a drawer of one of the filing cabinets, beginning to pick up everything in that drawer and examine it, flipping through the sheet music to try and determine if something was too difficult, too easy, or possibly a good song for each choir. But it seemed that none of his findings were satisfying him - the difficulty level could be too great or too little, but there was also the plain and simple fact that he'd sometimes had a lapse in judgment when purchasing music and had picked music that, for some reason, was just plain bad.

Upon picking up a particular book that contained well-known songs from various popular Broadway musicals, he flipped through it for several pages before inwardly groaning. The songs in this book were good, but they weren't even in the right key - they hadn't been written to be performed like they were performed on the stage at all!

"Trash," he muttered to himself, rather carelessly tossing the book into the nearby recycling bin. He took another bite of his sandwich and grabbed yet another book, this one containing Italian versions of songs that had been popular in the past.

He felt a certain fondness for this particular book he'd just picked up - not only did it contain good songs that had been written in the key in which they'd originally been sung, but he'd bought it several years back during a year in which he'd been utterly obsessed with everything Italian. He'd craved Italian food endlessly, he'd started speaking Italian around the house even though no one could understand him, and he'd been able to put his knowledge of the Italian language to use when he and Stacey had gone to Italy for their anniversary - which meant that he'd then made his second trip to Italy, as he'd also traveled there in his days as a bachelor.

Smiling to himself as he recalled that year, he opened the book and began flipping through it, thinking that he could probably pick five songs from this book, one for each of his choirs. That, he was sure, would be interesting. It was just a question of what songs would be best for each choir.

There was a knock, which apparently came from the doorway of his office.

"Come in," he called out, taking another bite of his sandwich and chewing as he continued flipping through the book.

"Will?"

Upon hearing a woman's unfamiliar voice address him, he looked up and saw that the inevitable moment which he'd rather been dreading since the day before had now occurred, for Mrs. Ren Blackwell was standing in the doorway of his music library.

She'd found him. He didn't know exactly how, but she'd found him. And now she was right in front of him, looking directly at him. There was no running away now.

He stood there for a moment as they looked at each other, chewing what of his sandwich was in his mouth and feeling rather awkward. He should have known that the moment when he allowed someone into his office was a bad time to take a bite out of any kind of food.

After the moment had passed, he swallowed his sandwich and cleared his throat, straightening himself a bit as he placed what was still left of his sandwich atop the nearby brown paper bag it and the rest of his lunch had come in.

"Ren," he said rather softly, smiling and feeling somewhat surprised that smiling actually felt very natural despite the fact that he felt nervous. "Hi. How'd, ah... how'd you find me?"

"I was looking through the faculty roster and saw your name," she replied, smiling back at him. "At first I wasn't entirely sure it was you; I thought there might be another William Chase in Glasgow... especially since last I heard of you, you were still in New York."

"I've been back for quite a while now, actually - I came back almost seventeen years ago."

"Oh," she said, looking rather surprised and nodding. "Well, anyway, I didn't think it was really you at first, but then I asked Mr. Sutherland for a description of you, and when he described you, I immediately knew it was you."

"Yeah. I recognized you yesterday, you know, at the faculty meeting... but I didn't come over and say anything because I had to rush back here and get all my stuff set up for my choirs and whatnot," he lied.

In his head, he could see his inner self shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest while looking rather annoyed.

"Idiot," it said to him.

"Well, that's all right," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "I found you and here we are."

"Yeah."

In the few moments that followed, there was a silence as they looked at each other. But then he cleared his throat and grabbed his sandwich, alongside the rest of his lunch, and started walking out of the music library.

"So let's catch up," he suggested, deciding that he ought to just try and remove all tension from this meeting. "It's been such a long time... twenty-four years."

"Yeah, I know," she agreed with a smile, following him back into his office and sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk as he sat behind his desk. She scanned his desk for a moment before her eyes fell on a picture of the Chase family, which she picked up and examined.

"This is your family?" she inquired after a moment, glancing up at him briefly before turning her attention back to the picture.

"Yeah," he replied, smiling. "My wife and I just had our sixteen-year anniversary."

"Well, congratulations," she said sincerely, glancing up at him once more and flashing him a quick smile. "She's beautiful... they're all beautiful. I recognize your oldest girl - I've seen her in the hallway a few times yesterday and today."

"I apologize in advance if she gives you any trouble," he informed her, letting out a soft sigh and shaking his head. "Just come tell me and I'll handle it... I may not handle it very well, but I'll handle it."

"Ah, I'm sure she won't be too bad," she replied, finally placing the picture back in its place on his desk. She looked at him. "She looks a lot like you."

"Yeah, well... that's about the only thing we have in common anymore, I think." He paused, clearing his throat and waving it away as he straightened himself in his chair a bit. "But enough about me. What have you been up to during all these years?"

"Well, I finally settled down," she replied. "I met the man who's now my husband about twenty-two years ago... and we got married about twenty years ago."

"That's great." He paused once more, taking a deep breath. "And how's your son... how's Landon?"

"I have three sons now, actually," she said proudly. "But Landon... he's doing great. He's studying at the University of Edinburgh School of Medicine... he wants to be a doctor."

"Oh, that's great," he said, nodding and smiling. "That'll make things more convenient for you, won't it - having a doctor in the family? You'll never have to be in a waiting room at someone's office again... you can just have him make house calls whenever something's wrong."

"That's true, but I'm sure he won't be doing that," she replied with a light laugh, and he noted that her laughter sounded exactly the same as it had twenty-four years ago.

He smiled at her again, and then they were silent for a few brief moments as they looked at each other. Then, however, she broke eye contact with him and looked down at her hands, which were resting atop her lap.

"You know, Will, you were always so nice to me when we were going to university together all those years ago... and I was so horrible," she said quietly. "A lot of times, I still think about it and I still wish I'd treated you better. Really."

For a moment, he wasn't sure of what to say as she looked up at him and waited for an answer, so he shifted in his seat somewhat uncomfortably. But then he cleared his throat and shrugged, straightening himself in his chair again.

"It was college, Ren," he replied, his voice as quiet as hers had been. "Everyone was screwed-up."

"Some more than others," she added, more to herself than to him.

"I always thought you were all right."

She gave him a small smile, and then one of the dismissal bells that rang throughout the day suddenly sounded, causing them both to jolt slightly.

"Well, I guess that means the break's up for both of us," she said, rising from her seat as he did the same. She smiled at him. "But let's not let this nice conversation end with having us just say goodbye. Our families should get together at one of our houses and have dinner sometime - everyone can meet everyone."

His face lit up. "That sounds great! I'd really like that."

"Then here - let's exchange numbers so we can set it up when we're not at school."

He nodded, grabbing a piece of paper and ripping it in half. He gave half of it, along with a pen, to her, while he grabbed a pen and started scribbling on the half he'd kept for himself. She did the same with her pen and half-paper.

"There you go," he said when he'd finished writing down the numbers she could call in order to reach him, pushing the paper over to her and taking the paper with her information from her. He examined the numbers for a moment, then looked up at her and smiled. "All right."

"I'll call you sometime in the next day or two," she informed him, folding the paper with his phone numbers and sticking it inside the jacket of her suit pants. "And I'm sure I'll swing by and talk to you... you know, during the lunch break or something. You wouldn't mind that, would you?"

"Not at all," he replied, shaking his head. "Come on by any time."

"I'll do that."

She then walked to the door of his office, opening it and beginning to step out before turning to look at him.

"It was great to see you again after all this time, Will," she said sincerely, smiling at him. "There's something really cool about seeing an old familiar face... you know what I mean?"

"Yeah. It was good seeing you, too."

She smiled again, and then she turned and walked out of his office, closing the door behind her.

For a moment, he simply stood behind his desk and looked at the door, but then he turned toward the remnants of his lunch and picked up his sandwich, biting into it and chewing on it thoughtfully.

His reunion with Ren, it turned out, hadn't been as bad as he'd expected it to be. Not that he'd expected it to be too bad, but he'd still been worried about how awkward it would possibly be. But everything had been fine - it had felt like they hadn't been apart for twenty-four years.

Everything would be perfectly fine, he decided. He would get to know her and her family... and they would be work friends, just like he was with all the faculty members at Hyndland he was close to.

--

09-25-1993

So Bailley and I went on our date earlier tonight. And it was the best, but the weirdest, date I've ever been on. (Well, I won't lie. It's the only date I've ever been on. But it was still awesome and weird at the same time.)

We went to dinner at Friday's, which was good. And then we went to some pub that her cousin owns. We didn't drink or anything; we just went down into the basement and sat around on the floor talking. And that's when it got awesome but weird.

I was talking to her about music, saying stuff that I know she didn't understand (because she was looking at me in a way that told me she didn't understand) about repertoires and all that fancy shit.

Then she interrupted me and said, "You're weird."

"I am not!" I replied, feeling irritated because I hated it when people told me that. "So I talk about stuff you don't talk about because you don't know much about it. I'm sure you talk about stuff I don't get, but am I calling you weird? No!"

She laughed at me. "You're cute, too," she said. "Cute and weird."

I think I was about to say something about how I'm not cute, but I don't remember. I pretty much forgot everything I was thinking about because she leaned over and kissed me!

As Stacey read this journal entry of Will's, she chuckled a little bit as she could picture hearing Will, in the fifteen-year-old version of his voice, sound surprised while talking about how Bailley Hartfeld gave him what was, apparently, his first kiss. She'd seen that coming the minute Bailley had told Will he was cute.

She continued reading:

She was wearing cherry lip gloss and I could totally taste it. And because I liked it so much, I immediately went back for another kiss when she pulled away from me. She didn't mind it, I guess, because we kissed over and over again.

After a couple of minutes, we started tonguing. Then I got hard, and when she felt it, she pulled away and looked at me. I felt kind of embarrassed, so I didn't know what to say.

"Do you want me, Will?" she asked me. "You do, don't you?"

I was shocked she said that, and I was still feeling kind of embarrassed about getting hard, so I didn't say anything and instead kind of nodded my head.

She smiled and lay on her back on the floor. "Do it. Do it to me."

Stacey stared at the last line she'd just read, feeling rather shocked. This girl, this Bailley Hartfeld... she suddenly seemed to be, well... rather trashy. Or maybe she was just a wildly hormonal teenage girl. Or maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, she rather hoped that Will had had more sense than to have sex with her on a first date.

But then, she remembered as she inwardly groaned, the Will she knew was different from the Will she was currently reading about. The Will she knew was a sensitive, keen, responsible, serious-minded forty-six-year-old man with a wife and children. The Will she was currently reading about was a hormonal, relatively impulsive, somewhat selfish fifteen-year-old boy with no real obligations or responsibilities to anyone but himself. This meant that he'd probably gone for it.

For a second, I just looked at her because I wasn't really sure what to do. I'd never had sex before and she was just totally expecting me to step up and know exactly what to do! She was the one who wanted me to do it; why didn't she take control?

Girls are so confusing.

But even though I didn't really know how to go about having sex, I knew the obvious basics of it. So I got on top of her and kissed her while I lifted her skirt and pulled down her underwear. Then I pulled down my pants and put it in her while she let out a little yell.

I stopped because I was nervous that I'd hurt her, but she acted all excited and said, "Keep going. Do it."

So I moved around in her while I kissed her, and God, it felt so good!

It ended kind of fast, though, which sucked. But she liked it (I know because she told me) and I liked it, and she told me she wants to go on another date with me sometime. So I don't know... I guess I'll get some practice every time I go out with her and I can hold out longer! That'll be awesome. I'm really excited.

And then that was the end of the entry, at which point Stacey simply sat there and looked down at the page before her.

Something in her wished that she hadn't read this particular entry, that she'd skipped to the next entry once she'd figured out what was inevitably going to be documented. She couldn't believe that her husband had written about something so intimate in a journal that could be opened by anyone at any time!

But, once again, she realized that when her husband had written this, he hadn't been her husband. He'd been a fifteen-year-old boy who had just lost his virginity to a girl who, according to him, was highly attractive, and he'd been excited, so he'd had no other choice but to express his excitement in writing... because she knew for a fact that he certainly wouldn't have told any of his relatives.

She could also see the silver lining in having read this entry, however. She now knew a little bit more about what his experience with sex had been like before meeting her - of course, it had been obvious in the course of their first lovemaking that he was more experienced than she, but now she knew about a time when he hadn't been the experienced one. In her view, that was something really intimate and personal, something that made her feel like she was suddenly a little closer to her husband because she knew it.

With the thought of this silver lining she'd found in mind, she picked up the Composition Book and continued on, beginning to read the next entry.

09-27-1993

Shit.

When I walked into my homeroom at school (which I have with Bailley Hartfeld) today, I saw that she and all her friends were clustered together, whispering and giggling about something. And when they noticed me, they looked at me for a minute before turning back to each other and giggling some more.

I didn't really know what it was about, but I figured it was something that I didn't care about... or maybe they were talking about how they thought I was cute - like, you know, Bailley told them she thought I was cute and they were all agreeing with her or something like that.

But then they kept doing it... they kept looking over at me, and whenever I'd look back at them, they'd start laughing (more and more loudly every time, pretty much) and turn back towards each other and keep whispering.

And after a few minutes, I finally understood what they were going on about.

Bailley had told them about our date and that we'd had sex. And apparently, she'd told them about how I hadn't had a clue about what I was doing and about how I couldn't hold out and about how she thought it was bad - but she hadn't told me that because she hadn't wanted to hurt my feelings. Or, at least, not until today.

Upon reading this, Stacey felt an indignant defensiveness for Will rising up in her. Really, who did this Bailley Hartfeld think she was? Was so she ignorant about what sex was really like that she expected it to be totally perfect when it was the first time - particularly if it was the guy's first time?

I felt really embarrassed and just started ignoring them as best I could; I just sat at my desk and tried to think of something to distract me from thinking about how they were all laughing at me. But a couple of minutes later, one of Bailley's friends stood up and walked over to me.

"Hey, Will, will you take me out on a date?" she asked, barely able to contain her giggling. Her friends giggled behind her.

Glaring at Bailley for a minute, I looked back at the girl in front of me and shook my head. "I think I'll do without, thanks."

She suddenly looked mad. "What, you can take Bailley out on a date and screw her, but you can't do it with me? You think you're too good for me or something?"

"I don't want to go on a date with you," I said.

Then she looked all insulted. "Well, fine! Don't go out with me. I guess going on a date with Bailley and screwing her made you realize you're a fag. So whatever. Your loss, fag."

And then she turned and walked back over to the cluster of desks behind her in an angry fashion. "He's a fag!" she announced to her friends. "Good job, Bailley. You helped him figure out who he really is."

"Well, better now than later," Bailey replied.

At that, she and her friends started laughing uncontrollably, and they all started calling me a fag, telling everyone who came into the classroom that Bailley and I had gone on a date and we'd had sex and I'd sucked at it, so now they'd figured out that it was because I'm a fag.

But just wait - believe it or not, this story actually gets worse.

Kyle Howard was the last person to walk into the classroom, and when he did, he walked over to Bailley and sat next to her. And while I watched, they kissed!

Stacey pursed her lips. The more she read about this Bailley Hartfeld, the more she became irritated with her. Obviously, in between her date with Will and the start of the next school week, she'd decided that she wanted to date some other guy. Apparently, Stacey's first conclusion about Bailley Hartfeld had been correct - she was trashy... or, at least, she had been when she'd been a fifteen-year-old girl.

So I guess that in between Saturday night and this morning, Bailley decided that she didn't want to go out on another date with me and that, instead, she wants to date Kyle Howard. I fucking hate that arrogant prick - even more so now than I ever have before.

"Guess what, Kyle?" Bailley then asked Kyle.

"Yeah, what, babe?" Kyle asked back.

"We discovered that Will's a fag," she said to him, pointing at me and causing him to look at me. "See, I went out on a date with him Saturday night -"

"And you said yes when I asked you out yesterday afternoon?" he asked, and he sounded mad. And for a second, I actually thought that she was going to get what she deserved and that he was going to dump her.

"Well, I didn't think you liked me," she told him with a pout. "But when you asked me, I found out you do, so yeah, I said yes!"

He smiled in that arrogant way he does. "Well, great, then. Keep going."

"I went out on a date with him Saturday night," she continued, "and we screwed. But he sucked, so now the girls and I have figured out that it's because he's a fag."

At this, he turned and glared at me, and I knew I was suddenly in deep shit. So I stood up real quick to make sure that he wouldn't have that much of an advantage over me.

"You fucked with my girl?" he asked angrily, standing up and practically running over to me. He grabbed the collar of my shirt. "You had to fuck with my girl to figure out you're a fag? God-damn it, Chase, I could've told you you're a fag if you'd just asked. But since you didn't, since you fucked with my girl, you're gonna get it good."

"Well, she... she wasn't 'your girl' when I went on the date with her," I said.

"Oh, I get it," he said, tightening his grip on my shirt. "You're a fag and a smart-ass, huh? Well, good. I hate fags and I hate smart-asses... and since you're both, you're gonna get it even more today. So unless you want it around the school that you're a pussy, a fag, and a smart-ass, you'd better meet me on the rugby field after school so I can beat your ass before team practice."

I wanted to say something about not wanting to, but I didn't want to be called a pussy because I wouldn't show up to a fight I knew I was going to lose. So I just nodded.

So the rest of the day I was really nervous. I knew I was going to have my ass beaten completely in front of the whole rugby team, and by the captain of that team, too. I could hardly eat anything at lunch, and what I was able to eat, I could hardly keep it down.

The day didn't go very slowly, either, like I'd hoped it would. So before I knew it, I was out on the rugby field, waiting for my doom. A bunch of other students my age who, through word of mouth, had heard about the fight, had come to watch and were in the stands. Bailley was one of them.

"We'll start practice in a few minutes, men," Kyle said to his fellow rugby players. He turned and looked at me, giving me an evil smile. "I've gotta school this fag who fucked with my girlfriend."

"Oh, man, let us help!" one of the players begged. "I love beating fags."

"All right," Kyle agreed. Then he cracked his knuckles and looked at me, his evil smile getting wider. "Then let's do this. Put up your fists, Fag-Chase, and see if they do you any good!"

I felt so nervous that my palms were sweating, but I knew that I didn't have a choice anymore; I'd come to the field to take my beating and that's exactly what was going to happen. So I curled my hands into fists and put them up. And then, suddenly, all of the rugby team charged at me.

I tried fending them off, throwing punches at them as best I could, but there were too many of them. So it wasn't long before a couple of them were holding me still while the rest of them were beating me up.

Everyone in the stands was cheering for the rugby players while I felt my face getting bloody, and I felt like I was getting pretty close to passing out. Soon they'd have their victory and they'd drag me off somewhere behind the school, probably strip me of my clothes and hide them to embarrass me, and then go about having their practice.

"Hey!" a voice then shouted suddenly. "Leave him alone!"

I felt a hand grab my arm and pull me out of the crowd of rugby players that had been beating me, and I saw that Ed (the only rugby player who hadn't been out on the field until just then) had arrived and intervened on my behalf.

Upon reading this, Stacey smiled with relief. Edwin Guiles, called Ed for short, was Will's best friend - and had been since the two had been young children. And apparently, Ed had been the one who had saved Will from bullies whenever they'd come along - she didn't really know, as this was the first time Will had documented being bullied, but she supposed time would tell... and she was sure Ed would be there to help him whenever , she supposed, Will would eventually become better at self-defense - he'd told him herself when they'd been dating that he hadn't much been bullied in school.

She proceeded reading.

"Aw, come on, Guiles!" one of the players who'd been beating me said. "Just let us rough him up a bit."

"I think you've already done that," Ed replied, starting to pull me away. "Fight's over. Come on, Will."

And then, as he pulled me away, those who had been watching in the stands let out groans and mutters of frustration.

"Oh... fuck you, Guiles!" Kyle yelled at Ed. "Go off and fuck your little faggot friend, you fucking faggot!"

Ed ignored the taunts that started coming his way and instead pulled me off the field and to the side of the school, where he proceeded to take off his jersey and undershirt.

"Here, start wiping your face off with this," he told me, handing me his undershirt and looking at me as I did what he'd told me to. "Fuckin' bastards. Sorry they did that to you, brother. But really - why didn't you tell me earlier that Kyle wanted to kick your ass?"

I covered my face with the shirt like it was a towel, shrugging.

"Hmm. Well, you should have told me... but don't worry about it. I'll keep an eye on you, make sure no one messes with you." He paused. "And why, exactly, did Kyle want to kick your ass?"

"His girlfriend," I replied, removing the shirt from my face and looking at him. It hurt to smile, but I did it anyway. "You know, Bailley Hartfeld."

"Oh, yeah; I heard they're together now. What about her, though?"

"Well, I went on a date with her Saturday night, you know." I smiled a little more. "And, you know..."

His eyes widened. "Oh, my God! Oh, holy shit! Are you serious?"

I nodded, and then my smile started going away. "But apparently she didn't think that I was any good - and I guess I wasn't; I couldn't hold out or anything. So she told all her friends in homeroom and they were all laughing about it, and when one of them came over and asked me to take her on a date, I said no. She got all offended and called me a fag, so they all started saying I'm a fag - they told that to everyone who came into homeroom. And when Kyle came in, Bailley told him all about it and he got mad that I'd had sex with her. So he told me that he was going to beat me up, which he now has."

He frowned. "I knew she was trash. Sorry that happened to you."

I shrugged. "Well, it isn't your fault. Thanks for helping me out there, though. I was thinking it was all about to end... pretty badly, too."

"You're welcome." He paused, frowning again. "But how are we gonna explain all these bruises and shit to your ma?"

"We can just tell her I got into a scuffle; she won't think it's a big deal if we make it sound like I was doing some of the hitting, too. I mean, she'll tell me not to get into fights anymore, but that's all."

"Okay. Then come on - let's go to the nurse's office and put some ice on your face so it won't get so bruised and whatnot."

And then we walked back inside the school to the nurse's office... and that's the end of the story.

So today was definitely the most humiliating day I've experienced in my whole life. But there was a bright side to it, I guess, because Ed again proved exactly why he and I are best friends - we look out for each other. Or, I guess, he looks out for me... more than I look out for him, anyway, because he doesn't much need protecting. I'm so lucky to have him for a best friend.

And Stacey was glad that this particular entry was now over, for she heard a low clattering sound that came from underneath her. That meant Will and Alex had arrived home and Will had just opened the garage door.

Marking her place in the Composition Book and closing it, she stood up and walked over to the nearby attic stairs, which were opened and on the floor in case Chance and Lizzie had needed to get her for something. Then she set the Composition Book down next to the stairs and climbed down them, closing them and turning off her flashlight.

"We're home!" she heard Will call out to no one in general as the back door opened, and she placed her flashlight in the linen closet and descended the stairs to the first floor of the house.

Will was standing in the living room, being enthusiastically greeted with hugs and kisses by Chance and Lizzie. Alex was just walking in the back door, closing and locking it behind her before walking towards the stairs. She gave her mother a brief glance and wave of acknowledgement.

"Hey," Stacey greeted Alex, patting her on the shoulder as she brushed past her and began heading upstairs to her bedroom. "Have a good day?"

"Yeah," Alex called as she continued going up the stairs. "I'm going to do my homework now. Call me when dinner's ready."

And then, a few moments later, Stacey heard the sound of Alex's door closing. Upon turning back towards the living room, she saw that Will was now standing in front of her.

"Hello, beautiful," he greeted her with a smile.

"Hello, beautiful," she returned, smiling back at him and wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed him. "How was your day?"

"Pretty good." He paused. "I ran into a woman I went to college with - she's the new Biology 4 teacher. And I told her that maybe we could all have dinner sometime, you know, so she and I can catch up and so we can all get to know each other."

"That sounds fine with me. Whenever they want to do it is good."

"All right," he replied with a smile. "I'll let her know tomorrow when I see her."

"Cool. Anything else?"

"No. What about you - what did you do all day?"

I read about your first sexual experience and the embarrassment you went through afterwards, she mentally responded to him.

She didn't say this aloud, however, for she believed that he might possibly be embarrassed if she told him so. So she instead replied, "I read, just like I did yesterday."

"I see. Anything interesting?"

Upon his asking this, she wasn't exactly sure of how to respond. If she said that what she'd read had been interesting, he'd ask for more details about it, and she wasn't yet ready to tell him that she'd stumbled upon journals he'd written in the past - for all she knew, he'd forgotten that they were up in the attic and would want to get rid of them if she mentioned them. And she didn't want that, for she was finding them interesting; she felt that she was learning more about him by reading them. And in a way, she supposed, she was.

With these thoughts in mind, she didn't verbally respond and instead shrugged in a rather noncommittal gesture, smiling at him. Then she kissed him and inquired, "As I'm sure you can tell by the lack of the smell of food, I haven't cooked dinner yet. Are you hungry?"

"A little bit, yeah." He paused, glancing at his watch and seeing that it was about 6:00. "But I guess I can wait a while if nobody else is much feeling hungry."

She nodded. "All right."

"All right." He removed himself from her hold, kissing her and heading towards the stairs. "I'm going to change clothes. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"I wanna follow you!" she insisted, prancing up to him and making to follow him up the stairs.

He turned around on the first step and looked at her, laughing slightly in amusement. "I'm only going to take a couple of minutes, love. I'm just going to change out of these clothes and into something more comfortable, go to the bathroom... nothing exciting. I promise you won't even miss me."

"I always miss you when you're gone," she informed him, grasping his hands in hers and squeezing them.

He smiled. "I love that you still tell me that after sixteen years of being married to me - and that you still mean it."

She smiled back, shrugging. "Well, I suppose you want a couple of minutes to yourself, though... you've had to deal with people all day long and you need a little bit of quiet. So go on ahead - I won't bother you. Take as long as you want."

"I really won't take long," he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead and releasing his grip on her hands before turning and ascending the stairs.

She watched him go up the stairs and down the hallway before he disappeared into their bedroom, and she heard the door closing behind him. Then she turned and walked into the living room, sitting herself on the sofa and observing Chance and Lizzie, who were on the floor. Chance was reading Beezus and Ramonaby Beverly Cleary, which had been Stacey's back when she'd been a child and had been used by both Alex and Chance, to Lizzie, who wasn't yet literate enough to read through Beverly Cleary's books by herself.

""I'm going to have a par-tee," sang Ramona above the roar of the vacuum cleaner," Chance read."Then she changed her song. "Here comes my par-tee!" she chanted.

Beezus glanced out the window and quickly switched off the vacuum cleaner. Four small children were coming up the front walk through the rain. A car stopped in front of the house and three children climbed out. Two more were splashing across the street."

"Mother!" Beezus cried. "Come here, quick. Ramona wasn't pretending!""

Lizzie's eyes widened as she looked at her mother. "Mummy, did you hear that? Ramona invited people for a real party!"

"I know, baby," Stacey replied, nodding at Chance. "Now let Ch-Ch-Ch finish reading the chapter to you so you know how it ends."

Chance smiled at Stacey and turned his attention back to the book, giving Lizzie a brief sideways glance before beginning to read again. "Mother appeared in the living room just as the doorbell rang. One side of her hair was up in pin curls and the other side hung wet and dripping on the towel around her neck. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed when she understood the situation. "That explains Mrs. Kemp's phone call. Ramona, how could you?"

"I wanted to have a party," explained Ramona. "I invited everybody yesterday."

The doorbell rang again, this time long and hard. There was the sound of many rubber boots jumping up and down on the porch."

As Chance continued reading to his little sister, Stacey watched him intently, feeling a sense of pride within her at how good-hearted her only son was. She was sure that he would someday grow up to be a philanthropist of some kind - a male, Scottish Mother Teresa, going around the world and building orphanages and reading to those who lived in the orphanages the way he was reading to Lizzie now. It was a romantic notion, to be sure, but she could see it so clearly that she felt entirely certain it would come true in the future.

Her thoughts then turned from one of the males living in her house to the other as she glanced at her watch and noticed, with some surprise, that quite a bit of time had passed and Will still hadn't returned from his venture upstairs. What could he possibly be doing?

Deciding that it was time to find out, she rose from the sofa left her youngest children to themselves, going upstairs and down the hallway to the bedroom she and Will shared. Without knocking, she opened the door and saw Will, who was dressed in regular clothes and leaning against the pillows on the bed, sit up straight in an abrupt manner. His facial expression made it looked like he'd been caught doing something naughty or illegal - or both.

She noted that he was clutching something in his hands, and upon glancing at it for a moment, she saw that it was a Mead Composition Book that currently had nothing written on the front cover. He was also holding a pen between his fingers.

Upon seeing the Composition Book, which looked exactly like the ones in the attic that she was in the process of reading, she felt surprised - he still wrote journals, just as he had back when he'd been an adolescent! How had she not noticed that in sixteen years of marriage?

But she had to admit that she was also elated upon receiving this unexpected information. She couldn't wait until she'd read through all the journals in the attic and he'd finished with the one he was currently using so she could get her hands on it. It would be nice to get inside her husband's head, this time in a much more current setting.

"What are you doing up here?" she finally inquired after a moment, starting to walk towards the bed. "You've been up here a while."

"Have I?" he replied, glancing at his watch briefly before looking back up at her. "Oh, I guess so. Sorry."

"It's all right; I was just wondering what you were getting up to during all this time." She motioned towards the Composition Book in his hands. "What's that?"

"Nothing," he said rather hastily, looking rather embarrassed and placing the Composition Book down on the bed. "Just scribbles."

"Interesting scribbles?"

He laughed a little, shaking his head. "Not even a little interesting."

"Hmm," she murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed and making to take hold of the Composition Book. "Well, why don't you let me read what you've got... and I'll be the judge of how interesting the scribbles are?"

"No," he replied, immediately grabbing the Composition Book before she could get her hands on it. He halfway hugged it to his chest as if it were a sacred object. "It's private."

She laughed. "You're married! Nothing's private."

"That's not true," he said with a shake of his head, hugging the Composition Book to his chest a little more. "This is private - it has been for as long as I've used it and I intend for it to always be private."

"Why/?" she inquired, raising her eyebrows at him. "Are you afraid I'm gonna find out something that you don't want me knowing - some secret that you've hidden for half your life and don't want anyone knowing?"

She wasn't entirely sure, but she could have sworn that she saw his eyes widen a little as his face reddened slightly. "No."

"Well, all right, then," she replied, feeling slightly amused at how anxious he apparently was to have had her see that he had a journal he didn't want her reading. This made her even more intrigued to know what he'd written in it and what he would write in it in the future. She leaned over and kissed him lightly. "I'll leave you alone to finish your scribbles. Just don't take too much longer, okay? I'm gonna start dinner and I want you to eat with us."

"Of course I'll do that," he said, looking halfway insulted at the implication that he would forsake having dinner with his family to write in his journal. "I'll be down in just a little bit... and if I'm not down before dinner's ready, just call me and I'll come down."

"Okay," she agreed, rising to her feet and beginning to head towards the door. "Happy scribbling."

"Thanks," he replied, and she saw him smile out of the corner of her eye.

As she then stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her, she heard him let out a sigh in the bedroom - a sigh that apparently came out of relief. It seemed that he had been really nervous that she'd found out that he had a journal. She wondered why.

But whenever she read it, she supposed as she made her way towards the staircase, she would probably find out.