7 - Time Marches On

“What are you doing tomorrow?” 

Taking into account the time difference and Richie Sambora’s aversion to the combined letters of 'A' and 'M', Jon had waited very “patiently” until eleven the next morning to call his friend.   He knew it wouldn’t keep him from waking Richie up, but this way he didn’t feel too bad about it.

“Mmfh,” Richie mumbled and then yawned loudly.  “I don’t even know what tomorrow is, man.  Gimme a minute to wake up.”

“Lazy ass.  You didn’t drive the princess to school today?” 

After another gulping yawn, Jon could hear the other man rustling around in his California home.  “She’s with Heather this week.”

“Good.”  This worked into Jon’s plans perfectly.  It might not work into Richie’s, but…  “I need you in New York tomorrow.  It’s time to write.”

“Write?  What the hell are you talking about?  I’m starting my solo album.  I told you that.”

“Yeah, I know, and I’m excited and fully supportive, but I’m also excited about a couple new tunes for the band.  Just come for the day.  Help me make a little magic, and then go back to your solo gig.”

Writing had been the distraction that allowed Jon to sit still this morning, and not dwell on pointless shit. He wouldn’t have the kids until the weekend, and the days until then were remarkably business-free.  Jeri was taking care of a couple of small charity things for him, but his personal responsibilities were non-existent. 

But songwriting was always there when Jon needed something to think about, and as much as Richie was gonna complain, he understood that.  He also understood that you couldn’t schedule inspiration.  “You workaholic bastard.” 

“Undoubtedly, but this workaholic bastard has helped make you a very rich man.  Now, book a seat on that red-eye you love so much and get your ass to New York.”

“Fine, but I’m crashing at your place.”

Jon grinned at the comforting predictability of Richie’s inevitable surrender.  They had this down to a well-choreographed dance.  Demand, argue, cajole, bitch, and submit.  He loved it when a plan came together.

“That’s cool.  I get more work out of you that way.  See you in the morning, man.”

❧ ❧ ❧

“How are my favorite nieces?”  Sheridan shook out her green linen napkin and spread it over her lap.  The intimate Italian restaurant was one of her favorites, and a traditional eating spot for her and her older sister, Riley.

“They’re your only nieces and they’re teenagers.”  Green eyes very much like Sheridan’s lifted briefly to the ceiling, and Riley tossed back her professionally tinted and styled hair.  The blonde was darker than her own, but noticeably lighter than Riley’s original shade of ordinary brown.  “Teenage girls aren’t anyone’s favorite – except for teenage boys.”

Sheridan hid her grin with the big, leather-bound menu.  Being three years older hadn’t given Riley a sense of superiority over Sheridan during their childhoods and adolescence.  Her older sister had maintained what was, in hindsight, an astonishing camaraderie between them throughout the awkward formative years. 

Being a mother, however, had made her elder sibling an expert in everything.   Since Mandi and Ashley had gotten to high school, Sheridan wouldn’t be surprised if that expertise extended to corporal punishment.

She understood – in a vague sort of way – Riley’s maternal mutation.  Parents had to at least pretend to know everything.  However, on the odd occasions that she found herself being spoken to as if she were another of Riley’s children, it pissed her to no end.

Don’t be negative.  She invited you for a birthday dinner.  There’s no reason to believe that’s going to happen.

The waiter came to take their orders, and Sheridan impulsively added a glass of Pinot Grigio to hers.

“Since when do you drink white wine?” Riley asked with her forehead crinkled in curiosity.  “You’ve always said it’s too tart.”

Sheridan shrugged and rearranged the flatware at her place setting.  “I happened onto this in Jamaica.  It’s sweeter than a lot of whites.”

“Ah yes,” her sister mused after sipping her ice water.  She had ordered her favorite Merlot.  “Jamaica – the turning point of your life.  Are you ever going to tell me what happened?”

There wasn’t anything to tell, from Sheridan’s point of view.

On the heels of an amazing night of sex with one of the sexiest men alive, she’d spent a long time on an airplane.  During that extended flight, there was a young woman who made Sheridan take a long, hard look at her life.

Flying alone always carried with it the fear of finding yourself stuck with an annoying seat mate.  Sheridan was grateful when she’d been joined by a woman who appeared to be not much older than she was.  

Her first thought had been that the woman’s vacation had been as short as her own. Even her bobbed, blonde hair didn’t offer enough contrast to grant the illusion of sun-kissed skin.  She was pale as a sheet.

“Hello,” Sheridan offered quietly, once they were both buckled in.  “Did you enjoy your time in Jamaica?”

Tired eyes sparkled, and now that she had a closer look, Sheridan could see that they were hollowed out and the woman had lines of tension around her mouth.   Despite that, she offered a weak smile.

“Very much so.  I can now scratch another one off my bucket list.”

“Oh?  So this was your first time?”  Sheridan, herself, had only been one other time – on her honeymoon with Ian.

“Oh no, I’ve been here several times, but usually on business.  Never for a two week vacation.”

It hadn’t made sense that the woman had been in paradise for two full weeks and looked like her entire trip was spent locked in a closet.

“Two weeks?”

“Not exactly an advertisement for Coppertone, am I?” the woman laughed, effectively giving Sheridan permission to laugh, as well.

 “Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but no.  Not really.”

A frail hand – very frail, now that she stopped to notice – waved carelessly.  “The heat is rough on me nowadays.  I only went onto the beach in the early mornings or evenings.  I slept during the hottest part of the day.”  She wrinkled a dainty nose.  “One of the joys of cancer is round the clock naps.”

After that, she introduced herself as Lindsay and had ended up telling Sheridan her story of being a professional, workaholic woman with no interest in anything but getting ahead in business.  She was divorced, never had kids and had never done anything fun, just for herself.  Had never indulged in all the wild goose chases life had to offer.

“Then I found out about the cancer.” This time, Lindsay’s laughter was less humorous.  “I was too busy to even go to the doctor, so by the time they discovered the growth, it was untreatable.  Thirty-five years old with terminal cancer.”  She shook her head briefly and shrugged.  “So I quit.  That was two months ago.  I dropped everything and started marking things off my bucket list like crazy.  Things I’d vowed to find time for ‘later’, when I retired as a wealthy woman.”

“I’m so sorry.”  Sheridan hadn’t known what else to say.  The woman was a good five years younger than herself and looked ten years older.  The cancer had already taken a toll on her youthful beauty.

“It sucks,” Lindsay freely admitted.  “But it could be so much worse.  At least I didn’t go in a car crash, without the chance to live the way I wanted to.  I have a few months left to make up for lost time, and that’s what I intend to do.”

Her brave smile stuck like a burr in Sheridan’s consciousness for days.  That could be her.  Worse yet, she could be the one to go unexpectedly, without ever exploring all the little things that life had to offer.

“Sheridan?”  Riley was looking at her curiously, her wineglass half-empty. 

With surprise, Sheridan looked down to find her own untouched glass waiting.  She had no idea how long she’d been lost in her own thoughts.  Eyeing the Pinot Grigio wistfully, she went with the less-depressing version of life-altering Jamaica.

“I had a mind-blowing one-night stand.” 

Her sister slapped one open palm on the table, while her eyes went as big and round as the bread plates she’d just unsettled.  “Oh.  My God.  And you’re just telling me this now?  Sex that makes you give up your vast empire and live like a hippie is worth mentioning, Sheri!”

She hid her smile with the wine glass.  It had felt decadent having that dirty little secret, but the look on Riley’s face was pretty satisfying, too.  “I don’t live like a hippie,” she protested, carefully replacing the stemware on the tablecloth.

“Herbs and oils are close enough,” she was informed with a disgusted smirk.  “I don’t care about that shit, though.  Tell me about the guy!  Where’s he from?  Have you talked to him again?  Forget that.  Have you screwed him again?”

“And here I thought the term ‘one-night stand’ was self-explanatory.”

“Don’t be a smartass.  This is so not like you.  I want details, dammit!”

This time, Sheridan didn’t bother hiding her smile.  She laughed outright.  There was no doubt in her mind that Riley would scream like her dramatic teenage daughters if she knew the identity of Sheridan’s lover.   “No.  No details.  I’ll give you this:  During that storm on my last night, the hotel lost power.  He was my neighbor and we spent the night together.  That’s all.”

“Bullshit.  At least tell me if he was hot.”

Hell yes he’s hot.

“I think I still have burn marks.”

“Holy Moses!”  Riley fanned herself, lifting the hair off of her neck.  “And here I was ready to tell you to do something for yourself before you turn forty, because you’re in the process of becoming a boring old spinster.  Turns out you’re sowing your wild oats just fine without my advice.”

“I just sowed the one oat, but it was sowed a couple of times.” 

“In that case, sow it again!”

The laughter bubbled forth, almost uncontrollably.  Her nieces had definitely come by it honestly.  She wondered if they had checked out the local theatre programs?

“I’m serious!”  Riley leaned forward with a genuine urgency.  “If you don’t know where this guy lives, or there’s no chance for a repeat performance, fine.  But find somebody else.  It doesn't have to be a relationship.  Be a serial one-night-stander, if you want, but don’t waste away.  You’re a beautiful woman, and you deserve to feel that way.”

Sheridan’s eyebrows furrowed together, taken aback at what was being suggested to her. She had never been one to sleep around.  Ever. She and Ian had a healthy sex life while they were together, but that was different.  It had been a relationship that became marriage.

“I’m not exactly slut puppy material.”

“I didn’t say you were!  As your wise, older sister, I’m encouraging you to enjoy the last few years of your youth.   To the fullest.  All too soon, you’ll be more worried about incontinence than sex.”

“God, Riley!  Incontinence?” she hissed, glancing at the table closest to them.  The older couple there seemed blissfully ignorant of the conversation taking place between the sisters.  “Why would you even bring that up?”

“Because getting old sucks, and peeing when you sneeze is at the top of the sucking list.  Fortunately I’ve been married for twenty years, and Mitch doesn’t care.”  Riley clasped her hand and squeezed.  Hard.  Bone-crunchingly hard.  “Enjoying a fulfilling sex life doesn't make you a slut puppy.  Do this for yourself.   Promise me, Sheri...”