IN HIS KEEPING: TAKEN

Connor turned away from the computer screen when he heard her footsteps approaching.  He smiled when she appeared in the doorway.  ‘How’d it go?  Everything OK?’

Sylvie walked into the office and made her way to his desk.  ‘He cried when I told him I was happy for him.  He was worried how I’d react to his getting married again.  That’s why he asked Sara to break the news to me and didn’t tell me himself.  He said he thought it might be easier hearing it from her.  I took my mother’s death very hard.  My Dad was afraid I’d view his remarrying as a betrayal of her memory.  Resent him for moving on with his life.’  Tears were trickling from her eyes by the time she got to his chair.  ‘He said he’d spent the last ten years missing my Mom, aching for her.  Some days it was so bad he could barely get out of bed.  I had no idea he was still grieving.  I never saw him shed a single tear for her.  Not while she was sick, not even on the day we buried her.  He was always so stoic and strong.  All through the surgeries, and the radiation, and the chemo he never faltered, never showed any emotion.  It was as though he were made of stone.  She was so sick, and weak, and frail.  At the end she was just skin and bones.  It was like the cancer was eating her alive.  He’d sit quietly beside her hospital bed, holding her hand, his face impassive, listening as she struggled for breath; eyes fixed on the monitors, waiting for her to die.  I thought he was actually relieved when she did.  He said it was a blessing.  That she was free now.  There’d be no more pain or suffering, no misery; just peace.’  She began to sob.

Connor pulled her down on his lap and wrapped a protective arm around her while she wept.  He held her close and gently stroked her back to quiet her.  He could understand her pain.  He’d lost his mother too.  But her death was so sudden.  He thought that made it easier to bear.  He’d been shocked and devastated to learn she and his father had been killed in the fire.  But it had been mercifully quick; not like watching a beloved parent die by inches, slowly succumbing to a dreadful disease; seeing them suffer, feeling helpless, unable to do anything to assuage their pain.  He knew this was hard for Sylvie.  Even though she didn’t live at home anymore, it would be a difficult adjustment.  Someone was taking her mother’s place.  She’d be living in her mother’s house.  Sleeping in her mother’s bed.  Doing all the things her mother used to do.  At every holiday and family gathering from now on it would be an interloper sitting at her father’s side.  Perhaps if she hadn’t been blindsided by the news of her Dad’s impending nuptials; if she’d had some inkling they were seeing each other beforehand; had some time to get used to the idea, Sylvie would have reacted differently.

‘All that time he was mourning her.  And I never knew,’ she confided.  ‘He said he hadn’t intended to marry again.  That he’d resigned himself to being alone for the rest of his life.  But then he was appointed to a village study committee to determine the feasibility of placing historical markers on each of the 70 buildings in town that are on the National Historical Register.  Miss Kimmel was on the committee too.  It started out with him picking her up for a meeting when she had car trouble, then they went for coffee.  A day or two later he invited her to lunch and she reciprocated by inviting him over to her house for dinner.  One thing led to another and he decided to propose.  He says he loves her.  That she makes him smile.’

‘I can’t think of a better reason to get married!’  His fingers gently brushed the tears from her cheek.  ‘Quit worrying.  You’ll see.  They’ll be fine,’ he assured her.  ‘Did you get in touch with the bride-to-be?’

‘She wasn’t home, so I called Sara instead.  Big mistake!  I wish I hadn’t!  She’s bouncing off the walls.  She rattled off the latest wedding updates: the colors they’ve chosen, the music, the flowers, the number of kegs, proper wedding attire…  It’s like she’s on speed!  She was jabbering away a mile a minute, I didn’t understand half of what she said.  The wedding colors are wheat, wine, and teal.  I didn’t quite get it all, but I think she said it started out with the linens, china, and flower arrangements and then things mushroomed.  I don’t know how she did it, but we now have a harpist playing as guests arrive and are seated.  A chamber group, I think she said a sextet, which will play Pachelbel’s Canon in D Major, followed by a chorus singing Wagner’s Bridal Chorus from Lohengrin.  I have to go on the web and find out what Canon in D Major sounds like, but I’m pretty sure the Wagner piece is good old ‘Here Comes the Bride.’  Sara just refuses to call it that.  She can be pretentious at times.  She’s major pissed that she can’t have an organ set up out in the meadow so someone can play Mendelssohn’s Wedding March from A Midsummer Night’s Dream for the recessional.  She has to make do with a recording.  But she’s not the least bit happy about it.  My sister is a stickler for tradition.  She’s got a country band coming and is trying to get a square dance caller too.  I wonder how much of this she actually checked out with my Dad and Miss Kimmel.  I think they’re assuming this is going to be something simple and tasteful, but Sara’s turning it into a three-ring circus!  She wants everyone in the wedding party and all the family members wearing the same colors.  Guys will wear khakis and either teal or wine short-sleeved, collared shirts; and the girls will be in cotton or linen sundresses of a similar hue.  She’s going with mason jars of wildflowers on each table instead of fancy floral arrangements.  She intends for Dad and Miss Kimmel to say their vows under an arched garden arbor covered with wildflowers so she wants everything to match.  She decided having them get married under the willow was a bad idea…too buggy!  Sara’s got this vision thing going on; she’s striving for casual country elegance.  I hope she’s figured out a way to shovel up all the cow plops or her charming vision is going to go to hell in a hand basket the first time a guest steps in cow shit!’

He should have corrected her language, but instead roared with laughter.  ‘Oh ye of little faith!  It sounds like it will be wonderful.’

‘Yeah right!  My gentle, soft-spoken sister has morphed into the worst bridezilla ever…except it isn’t even her wedding!  She’s just acting like it is.  At first it was supposed to be just the immediate family: us kids, the spouses, the grandchildren, my Dad’s brother Bud, his wife Janet, possibly their kids, and a few of my Dad’s and Miss Kimmel’s closest friends.  Sixty people max.  But Sara just said the count is already over 150 and may hit 200.  She made up a list of what each of us has to do or contribute.  I’m supposed to bring 15 to 20 five-liter boxes of wine.  Half red and half white.  She figures we’ll get 33 glasses from each box.’

He raised a disapproving eyebrow.  Boxed wine…really?  He was going to say something, but changed his mind.  He’d keep his mouth shut for now.

‘And she wants me to buy the champagne for the toast too.  She told me to get Brut.  That’s the kind of champagne that tastes dry and not very sweet right?’

He nodded.

‘She thinks 25 bottles should be enough, but she won’t know for sure until we get the final count of whose coming.  She talked to my brothers and they’ve decided that under no circumstances will they allow my Dad to take Miss Kimmel to Aunt Tizzy’s for their honeymoon.  The woman would never forgive him!  They said that since I sit at a desk in front of a computer all day anyway, they didn’t think it would be too much of a hardship for me to take a few minutes to go online and find them someplace quiet, picturesque, and romantic to go.  Emphasis on romantic!  I thought that since they were older they were just marrying for companionship, but Sara says not.  She says they’re having sex!’

‘How in God’s name does she know that?’ he asked, shocked.  ‘She just found out they were getting married.  Did it come up in conversation?’

‘Hardly.  Sara went right over to my Dad’s house after he called her to congratulate him in person.  She went to use the bathroom and saw a bottle of pills sitting on the toilet tank.  My sister Sara’s a pharmacist, she knows Viagra when she sees it.  She’s also the quintessential snoop.  She snuck into his room…the bed was unmade and it was obvious that two people had been sleeping in it.  She said that now that the news is out, she’s learning that my Dad and Miss Kimmel have been the subject of a lot of village gossip of late.  Seems they’ve had several sleepovers in the past couple of weeks and people were speculating as to my father’s intentions, whether or not he’d make an honest woman out of Miss Kimmel.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ he scoffed.  Did people actually think that way nowadays?  How very provincial!

‘You’ve obviously never lived in a small town.  Everybody’s churchgoing and God-fearing and knows everybody else’s business.  It doesn’t take much to cause a scandal.  Sex without benefit of marriage is still considered a sin where I come from.  They want their teachers to be chaste and morally upright.  Oh, they’re willing to forgive an occasional moral lapse or two, providing it ends with a wedding ring.’

He wasn’t going to comment on that one.  He wondered what the small-minded townsfolk of Wyoming, New York would say if they knew about Sylvie and him and their special arrangement?  He didn’t even want to speculate!  ‘What exactly is Aunt Tizzy’s?  Some fleabag motel?  An old camp?  Someone’s house?’

‘It’s a cottage.  It belonged to my late Aunt Tizzy.  ‘Dizzy Aunt Tizzy’ we called her.  She died a couple of months ago.  We’re pretty sure that the will leaves the property to my father with the stipulation that it not be sold and passes to me upon his death.’

‘Just you?  Not your sister and brothers?’

‘I’m the only one who ever really liked going there.  So I guess she figured I should have it.  I used to visit her on my school breaks.  Especially after my Mom died.  She lives in a very isolated area of the Catskill Mountains: between the Rondout and Ashokan Reservoirs.  The house is in the woods off Peekamoose Road a few miles north of a little town called Sundown.  There are very few houses there.  It’s really in the sticks.  Her closest neighbor is over a mile away.  The road is maybe 15 miles long and snakes through a very narrow valley with a wide rocky stream just a few feet from the pavement and cliffs rising up hundreds of feet on either side.  There are at least 20 waterfalls within a ten-mile section.  It’s absolutely beautiful!  An iridescent bright green moss covers the rocks.  Sunlight filters down through the leaves, causing a changing mosaic of light and dark on the forest floor.  Mist rises over cascading waters that flow crystal clear and sparkle like diamonds.  It’s almost primeval…like the Garden of Eden.  It’s my favorite place on earth.’  She paused.  ‘But then, I haven’t been many places.  I do love it though.  I used to walk the road almost every day, exploring the falls and the creek.’

‘Hiking?  You?  In the mountains?’ he asked incredulously.  ‘No way!  I thought you hated the outdoors.  Had to be dragged into the woods kicking and screaming.  I sure remember you did a lot of whining and complaining when we did Cascade!’

‘For your information, this wasn’t hiking,’ she retorted.  ‘It was walking…along a paved road.’

‘You walked 10 miles…oh please…give me a break?’ he retorted sarcastically.

‘Tiz lived smack in the middle of the section with the falls.  One day I’d walk in one direction and the next in the other.  When I got tired I’d just take a swim or sit by the water and read.  I always tied a red bandana to the guardrail or a roadside tree.  At five Tiz would drive slowly down the road in her old Jeep looking for the bandana.  When she spotted it she’d beep the horn to let me know she’d come to drive me home.  She was a terrible driver, grinding the gears every time she shifted.  She burned out I don’t know how many clutches…’

‘She was your Dad’s sister?’ he interrupted.

‘No his aunt.  My Grandmother’s baby sister.’

‘Why do you call her ‘Dizzy Aunt Tizzy’?’

‘Well…’ she hemmed, not wanting to disrespect Tiz’s memory.  She deserved better than having her niece infer she was a lunatic.  ‘She was eccentric, sort of a recluse.  Tiz, her real name was Terese, was a sculptor and a potter.  She made fired clay Venus figurines and sold them to museum gift shops and high-end curio shops all over the world.  You know, the primitive depiction of the female form with highly exaggerated features: humongous boobs, massive thighs, bulging bellies, and enormous backsides.  Her house is literally filled with them.  Tiny ones, tall ones, and every size in between.  She did anatomically correct primitive male figurines too.  And some Hindu lingam sculptures.  Phalluses.  She was known for her reproductions of Pre-Columbian Moche pottery.  The Moche inhabited the northern coast of Peru 1500 to maybe 2000 years ago.  Their pottery was highly erotic; some might say it’s even pornographic.  Females with gigundo vulvas, males with cocks so big they have to hold them up with two hands, scenes of masturbation, fellatio, and couples going at it in various sexual positions.  They were a sensual society to say the least.  Even their water pitchers were erotic.  They frequently portrayed male genitalia, with the scrotum as the base and a flaccid penis as the spout.’

‘Your aunt made pornographic pottery?  Cocks, clay or otherwise, aren’t something I usually associate with little old ladies.  She actually made a living doing that?’ he asked, finding it a bit hard to believe.

‘Yes, she did very well for herself.  But you’d never have known it.  She dressed like a bag lady.  Most of the time she wandered around in tattered cotton housecoats and old leather slippers when she worked.  She had five or six old dresses.  A moth-eaten long wool coat with a matching pill box hat, ala Jackie Kennedy, for the rare occasions she had to get dressed up and go someplace…funerals, weddings, and wakes.  A down jacket that was losing its stuffing from places where the fabric had melted after coming in contact with the outdoor kiln.  A scruffy old leather bomber jacket that was ripped at the seams.  A couple of pairs of very cruddy sneakers that she wore unlaced.  Two pairs of boots: one for winter and one for outdoor work.  And her prized possession, an old Army, winter, field jacket.  That was pretty much it.  Oh, and the wedding gown.  It was little more than a rag at the end.  She liked to wear it with the olive drab field jacket.’

‘A wedding gown and a field jacket?  That’s some getup.’  He was thinking bizarre!  ‘So she was married then?’

‘Yes.  Her husband was a First Lieutenant in the Army Special Forces.  He was one of the first 400 Green Berets sent to Vietnam in 1961 to train South Vietnamese soldiers in counter-insurgency techniques.  He was assigned to the Central Highlands to recruit Montagnard tribesmen to fight the Viet Cong guerillas operating in the area.  Unfortunately, the enemy got wind of what they were doing.  The village was overrun.  The civilians massacred.  And my uncle was dragged off into the jungle never to be seen again.  They never found his body so they classified him MIA, missing in action.’

‘That’s too bad.’

‘They married a week before he shipped out.  She refused to accept the fact that he might be dead.  She always believed he’d be coming home to her.  They met while he was stationed at Fort Bragg, North Carolina.  Tiz had completed her MFA in sculpture at the University of Alabama.  And had worked in galleries in Charleston and Savannah.  She and two of her equally arty girlfriends had decided it was time to head north to the uptown museums and galleries of New York City and the downtown beatnik scene of Greenwich Village.  My aunt was very much a free spirit; she never belonged down on the farm.  She and her friends were driving up the coast after stopping at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina when they decided to spend some time on Oak Island in North Carolina.  They rented a beachfront bungalow.  The one next door was taken by five young Army officers.  One of them was my Uncle Glenn.  It was love at first sight!  Four days later her friends headed north without her.  She decided to stay with him.

My grandmother’s family was fit to be tied.  Things like that weren’t done in those days.  Not until the hippies started espousing ‘free love’.  But her family couldn’t do anything about it, she wasn’t a kid, she was 28 at the time.  She’d worked her way through college to get her undergraduate degree and then to put herself through grad school.  Glenn was older too.  He’d been to college, didn’t like it, and dropped out in his junior year.  Worried that he’d be drafted after losing his educational deferment, he enlisted in the Army and became a Green Beret, rising to the rank of sergeant.  A month short of his discharge, they offered him a chance to go to Officer’s Candidate School if he re-upped.  So he did.  He’d been an officer for four years when they met.  She took an apartment in Fayetteville near the base to be near him and got herself a job waiting tables at a diner.

But her happiness was short-lived.  A few weeks later he got his orders.  They were married in the base chapel before he deployed.  Nobody came.  Not her family.  Not his.  When he left, he gave her the field jacket.  It has an embroidered black lieutenant bar on each shoulder.  There’s a curved black patch on the sleeve that says ‘AIRBORNE’ with a green patch below it containing a golden sword with three lightning bolts across it.  The jacket is filthy now.  She absolutely refused to wash it.  Said she could still smell him on it, his sweat, his aftershave, even after all these years.  Tiz would wrap herself up in the jacket and dance around the house.

Uncle Glenn was from Ellenville.  It’s about 35 miles northwest of West Point.  He told her about Peekamoose Road and all the waterfalls.  How beautiful it was.  How someday, when he was out of the Army, they’d buy a house and settle there.  After the Army told her he was missing, she packed up everything and moved north.  But not back home.  She rented a little place near the Ashokan Reservoir and bided her time until a house on the road came up for sale.  Then she bought it and settled in, waiting for him to come home.  But he never did.

It was as though, for all intents and purposes, her life stopped in 1961.  She was frozen in time…waiting.  The place is like a museum of sixties’ kitsch.  The kitchen is all yellow, blindingly so: the cabinets, the fridge, the stove, even the washing machine and dryer.  She had this plastic melamine dinnerware set covered in daisies and bright blue checks and water glasses in multicolored metal.  She made blue and white checked curtains to match.  It might have looked cute once, but that’s before the design wore off the plates, the glasses became scratched and dented, and the curtains faded and tore.  The living room isn’t much better.  The furniture is Danish modern, with scraped up walnut wood frames and threadbare, upholstered foam cushions.  The foam has disintegrated over time, so every time you sit on it, you send little puffs of yellow dust into the air.  The bedroom set was probably lovely years ago.  It’s white French provincial with gold scrollwork.  But the finish is marred and chipped, the mirror cracked, and the drawers broken and missing handles now.  There’s a chenille bedspread on the bed with a faded floral bouquet in the center.  I don’t think they’ve made them in 50 years.  The threads have unraveled and it looks shabby and frayed.  Worse still, it’s covering sheets that are stained and holey.  There’s one bathroom and it’s hideous.  The fixtures are peacock blue stained brown from years of accumulating hard water scum.  The walls and floor are white ceramic tile flecked in blue, but they’re cracked and yellowing with age.  The grout was probably white a long time ago, but now it’s nearly black with grime.  Trust me, it’s not the kind of place you’d drag an enemy to, let alone someone you love!  Can you understand now why no one wants my Dad to take Miss Kimmel there?’

‘I can see your point.  It sounds awful.  But if what you say is true, why would he even consider it?’

‘Sara says she thinks he was trying to kill two birds with one stone.’

‘How so?’

‘He wants to talk to Tizzy’s lawyer about the estate.  We know she left us the house and property, but we don’t know what else there might be.  As I said, she wasn’t poor.  She actually did pretty well financially.  In addition to the money she made from her figurines and pottery, she got a Social Security check and some kind of Army benefit or pension every month.

The lawyer’s been very evasive thus far.  He says he’s trying to discover and locate all the assets.  And has hinted that there might be a later will.  My Dad figured he’d meet with the lawyer face-to-face, get some straight answers, and then stay at Tiz’s place.

Problem is he has no idea how rundown it is.  He hasn’t been there since I was eleven, fourteen years ago.  That’s the year my Mom was first diagnosed with cancer.  Neither have my sister or brothers.  They were never really that close to her.  They were older and had better things to do than visit a dotty old great aunt.  But I always liked it there and looked forward to visiting her.  It’s so quiet and peaceful.  I used to write poetry and short stories while sitting and rocking on the front porch swing.  When my mother got sick and my Dad couldn’t take me anymore, he’d put me on a train in Rochester and she’d pick me up at the Rhinecliff-Kingston Amtrak station.  I’d usually spend a few weeks there in the summer and even went down for Christmas and Easter breaks sometimes.  The place was cleaner when I was there.  I’d dust, mop, sweep, and vacuum.  Scrub the sinks and tub, clean out the fridge, and scour layers of grease and gook from the stove.  One time I even washed all the walls and ceilings for her and painted the bathroom.  But over the years the grime just kept accumulating and things began to wear out and fall apart, leaving the place looking tacky…seedy.’

‘And you still continued to go?’  He was mystified.

‘Of course,’ she said, looking at him quizzically, ‘I went to see Tiz.  I didn’t go for the accommodations.  I loved the old lady.  She was a real piece of work.  But I wasn’t stupid.  I always brought my own sleeping bag and camped out on the studio couch in the spare room.  And I always washed the dishes, utensils, and pots and pans before I used them.  Even after I moved to the city I’d save up my tips and when I got enough money together I’d take the bus up to see her.’

‘When’s the last time you were there?’

‘The end of March, two weeks before she died.  She wasn’t doing well.  Barely eating.  I’d never seen her so thin and frail before.  She had this lady who came in every morning to check on her.  She’d fix Tiz breakfast and then give her a shower.  She tidied up around the house: do the dishes, clean up the worst of the messes, change the bed.  She called me and said I better come up, that she was failing.  I wanted Meagan to come with me.  Tiz was her aunt too.  But she begged off.  Tiz was so glad to see me.  I made her meatloaf and mashed potatoes, her favorite.  When I was little she used to make it for me every time I came to visit.  When I learned to cook I returned the favor and made it for her.  She only ate a few bites.  But she was so grateful.  We sat and visited a long time.  Most of which she spent talking about Glenn.  She had tears in her eyes when her neighbor arrived to take me to the bus station.  It was so strange.  She put her arms around me, told me how much she loved me, then handed me 6 rolls of quarters.  She said it was for the laundromat.  I tried to refuse them, but she insisted.  I have no idea why she did that.  It was so totally random.  The last time I saw her she was standing in the doorway waving goodbye to me.’  Sylvie let out a long, wistful sigh.  ‘I miss her!’

Connor held her close.  ‘She sounds like she was a very special lady.’

‘She was,’ Sylvie agreed, sitting up straight.  ‘But she was a really crappy housekeeper.  I cringe when I think what Miss Kimmel would say if she saw the place.  She’s a neat freak, obsessively so.  Her classroom was always immaculate: teacher’s desk uncluttered, students’ desks arranged in tidy rows.  She kept the bookshelves and cabinets polished and free of dust and grim, the books neatly arranged, the piles of paper organized into perfect stacks.  She was a stickler for neatness.  Absolutely fastidious!  We weren’t allowed to leave when the bell rang without first picking up around our desk.  She was the only teacher in the school who’d actually give you detention for being messy.  Her house is neat as a pin, her yard well-tended, her car spotlessly clean.  I wonder how my Dad is going to feel about her chronic neatness.  He’s not messy.  He likes an orderly home.  But I don’t think his standards will pass muster with her.  You could eat off her floors or drink out of her toilet.  That’s how clean she is!’

‘I’ll pass thank you!’ he grimaced.  ‘She sounds a little anal-retentive to me!’ he announced, then backpedaled when he saw Sylvie’s look of disapproval.  ‘But I mean that in a good way of course.’

She rolled her eyes.  ‘The fact is, in its current state, the place is a dump!  It’s hardly fit for human habitation let alone a romantic honeymoon.  I’ve got to figure out someplace else for them to go.’

‘Look, I know you’re overwhelmed by all this wedding stuff, and I hate to have to play the part of Simon Legree here, but I really need the edits for the last chapter.  Any chance you’ll finish them today?’

Work…Christ that was the last thing on her mind right now.  But deadlines were deadlines.  Get a grip Sylvie and do your job, she chided herself.  ‘I’m sorry Connor.  This wedding thing has knocked me for a loop.  I’ll get right on it.  You’ll have it by five.  Promise!’  She got up to leave, but he grabbed her hand.

‘I know you’re juggling a lot of balls right now,’ he conceded.  ‘Tell me what specifically you need to get done for the wedding so we can adjust your work schedule accordingly?’

She looked at him in confusion.  Who was this and what had he done with her boss…the rigid, domineering, utterly selfish and self-absorbed slave driver?  Sometimes Connor was full of surprises.  ‘I need to order the boxes of wine and bottles of…’  He interrupted her before she could finish.

‘About the wine and champagne…why don’t you just leave that to me?’

‘What?’  Did he just offer to help her?  ‘I don’t know,’ she stammered.  ‘I’m on a really strict budget.  I fell way behind on my student loans while I was out of work and I even had to take cash advances on my credit card.  I pretty much maxed it out.  I’ve been using most of what I’ve earned here to pay down my debt.  I’m all caught up with my student loans and I put a big dent in what I owed on the credit card, but that was before I knew about the wedding.  I’ve got less than $300 left in my checking account until I get paid on Friday.  That will get it up to a little over $1600.  Sara said the wine would cost about $15 to $20 a box, times 20 boxes, that’s $300 to $400.  She said the champagne would cost anywhere from $13 to $20 a bottle, times 25 or more bottles, that’s another $325 to $500 more.  Worst case scenario I’ll only have $700 left to pay for my share of the honeymoon, a dress, and the cost of renting a car.’

‘Whoa.  Time out!  Why do you need to rent a car?  We have a whole fleet of cars here.  We’ll take the Porsche or the Maserati.’  Obviously she wasn’t thinking clearly.

‘No,’ she looked horrified.  ‘Not the Porsche!  And definitely not the Maserati!’

‘Why?’  What woman doesn’t love riding around in a fancy sports car?

‘Um…m…m,’ she chewed her lip trying to think of an answer.  There was no way in hell she was going to drive up to the farm in a fucking sports car!  He was staring at her in consternation.  Think fast Sylvie!  ‘Not enough, not enough room,’ she blurted out, very pleased with herself.  ‘There’s not enough trunk space for all the boxes of wine and the champagne and the luggage and…and…the other stuff.’

‘What other stuff?’ he challenged, not knowing what she was talking about.  He was beginning to think they’d need to rent a U-Haul.

She didn’t like lying to him, but…oh well!  ‘Sara was thinking I might make up some cute little favors for the guests.’  Her sister did say something about favors, that much was true, but Sylvie couldn’t remember what!  ‘Pastel colored Jordan almonds, wrapped in netting, and tied with a bow.  They’ll have to be boxed up with tissue paper so as not to wrinkle the netting or bend the bows.  Probably fill three or four boxes at least.’  She informed him with a smile.  Was he buying any of this?  She hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she felt.  ‘I was thinking of driving over to the Walmart’s in Watertown after work to see if I can get netting and ribbon to match the wedding colors and maybe find a dress to wear to the wedding.  They’re open 24 hours a day.  Maybe they’ll have something suitable.  I already called Ruthie’s Run in Lake Placid and Pink in Saranac Lake to see if they had any teal or wine colored dresses in stock.  They didn’t.  I did an Internet search too, but couldn’t find anything appropriate.  Regardless, even if I was able to order something tonight, it probably wouldn’t get here in time.  So it’s either Walmart or I’m screwed.  I’d like to wring Sara’s neck for this.  Her and her stupid wedding colors!’ she groused.  Once she got home she intended to have a few words with ‘Bridezilla’ and straighten her ass out!

He was staring at her as though she’d grown another head.  ‘Oh…Walmart…right.’  He looked perplexed.  Was she joking?  She was going to get wedding attire at Walmart’s?  Really?  That was another thing he’d have to work on.  ‘Ok, I guess we’ll just have to take the Bentley.  We’ll have Brady drive us.’

A chauffeur driven Bentley?  No fucking way!  ‘I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think so,’ she told him emphatically.  ‘Sara said they’re going to have everyone park in the hay field.  It’s rutted and muddy.  A pickup or an SUV can navigate it, but a Bentley or any other sport or luxury car would be up to its axles in muck.’  She smirked at him dismissively.  So there!  She was pleased with herself for having won their little battle of wills.  Oh my God!  Wait a minute!  What did he say?  ‘We’ll?’ she squeaked, her eyes widening.  ‘You want to come with me?’

‘Of course!  I’m looking forward to it.  Can’t wait.  And if you’re worried about us getting stuck, don’t.  We’ll take the Range Rover.  It has 4-wheel drive!’

Sylvie stiffened.  ‘You can’t come home with me!’  She was starting to panic.

‘And why not?’  He sounded irritated.

‘Because!’  No way in hell was she bringing Connor home to meet her family!  ‘Because…’ she began again slowly, her mind going blank.  Think Sylvie think!  ‘They don’t know you,’ she blurted out.  ‘You weren’t invited.’  That sounded lame…even to her.  But it was the only thing she could think of.

‘I’m going as your date!’ he informed her, frowning.  What was wrong with her today?  She seemed loopy, unhinged.  ‘I’ll be your escort!  I have no intention of letting you drive all that way by yourself.  We’re a couple now…remember?  Where you go…I go!’

‘No!’ she couldn’t be any more adamant.  ‘It isn’t a good idea!’

‘And why not?’  His brow furrowed.

‘You wouldn’t enjoy it!  It’s not your kind of affair!  Besides, you can’t stay at my Dad’s place and the hotels and motels in the area are hardly up to your standards.  No 600 thread count sheets, no room service, no fawning bellmen or concierges.  I know.  I used to work in housekeeping, cleaning rooms and doing laundry, sometimes in the summer.  Trust me, nothing out there will be to your liking: not the food, or the drink, or the accommodations.  You come from a different world.’

He eyed her suspiciously.  ‘Are you ashamed of your family?’  That was the only reason he could see for her reluctance.  ‘Is that why you don’t want me to go?’

‘No!’ her voice rose in denial.  ‘That’s not it at all!’

‘Then what?’  He was at a loss to understand what her problem was.  Then his eyes narrowed.  He studied her for a moment.  ‘Are you ashamed of me?’  As crazy as it sounded, he was pretty sure that was it.

‘No!  I’m not ashamed of you,’ she turned away, unwilling to look him in the eye.  ‘It’s just that people out there don’t warm to strangers.  Especially ones who drive Porsches and Maseratis.  Or who come from New York City.  They’ll take one look at your $30,000 Rolex, your $1000 Montblanc pen, your $600 Louis Vuitton aviator sunglasses, and $600 Ferragamo loafers and think you’re a pretentious asshole.  They work hard for a living and they’ll think you’re a feckless rich-boy who’s had everything handed to him on a silver platter; who’s never had to work a day in his life.  They’ll take one look at your hands, at those manicured, dirt-free fingernails, and think you’re a pampered punk.  They’ll snicker behind your back the whole time.  You won’t fit in!  You’ve got booze that costs more than most of them make in a year.’

He glared at her.  ‘That’s not true!’

‘It is so!’ she retorted.  ‘That bottle of Remy Martin Cognac you keep under lock and key behind the bar and dole out to your friends cost over $50,000.  Mrs. Cosgrove told me.  Look, we’re going to be drinking beer out of a keg.  There won’t be any $1000 a bottle, 30 year old, single malt whiskey for you to sip.  Or $30 cigars for you to smoke.  My Dad smokes Bandidos’ cheroots, the mini-cigarillos.  I bought some for him two Christmases ago.  I paid $35 for 60 of them.  I’m telling you, you won’t fit in!  You’ll be miserable!  Do you even know how to square dance?’

‘For Christ’s sake Sylvie, I have a Master’s degree from Columbia.  I graduated top of my class.  I won’t do anything that will embarrass you or your family.  I promise I’ll fit right in with the farm folk.  You have my word on it!  I’ll wear overalls; scratch my ass or my balls, whichever you’d prefer, spit, and even piss on a tree if necessary.  Happy now?’ his words dripped with sarcasm.  ‘For your information, I am neither socially awkward, nor am I a snob.  It may surprise you, but most people find me charming.’

‘Yeah, well you haven’t met my brothers yet.  I don’t know that they will find you so charming,’ she warned.

‘Are you saying they won’t approve of me?  Why the hell not?’

‘I don’t know?’ she rubbed her chin, pretending to ponder the question.  ‘Perhaps it’s got something to do with the fact that you, as the Victorians would say, ruined their little sister.  Turned her into a woman of easy virtue, a strumpet!’

‘A strumpet?  Is that what you are?  A naughty little strumpet?’  His grin was broad and lecherous.  His eyes glinted with lust.  ‘I didn’t turn you into anything Sylvie.  All I did was awaken your sexuality.  I would think you’d be eternally grateful to me.  In fact, to show your appreciation, you might want to get down on your knees and thank me properly.’  He smirked, pursed his lips, and blew her an imaginary kiss.

‘Oh puh…leeze!  Give it a break!’  Sylvie wanted to give him the finger, but settled for a dirty look.  ‘God, is that all you ever think about?  Do you realize that I had no idea how to give head before I met you?’

‘That may be true, but you’re certainly proficient at it now.  You had a good teacher if I must say so myself.  And don’t act all indignant.  You know you love it!  You purr like a contented kitten every time I put my cock in your mouth.  It’s sooooo delicious,’ he laughed, making licking motions with his tongue.

‘Delicious?  When’s the last time you had a big thick cock in your mouth?’ she challenged.

He looked askance at her.  ‘I put other things in my mouth,’ he reminded her suggestively.  ‘Oh, and just so you know, as for knowing how to square dance, I can do-si-do with the best of them.’

She sighed.  ‘Go ahead and joke about it, but you better hope my brothers don’t figure out what we’re doing, never mind my father.  They would be none too pleased about it,’ she joked.

‘You’re 25 years old Sylvie.  Do you really think they still believe you’re a virgin?  At any rate, they’ll know for sure you’re not when we share a hotel room.’

‘But…’ she stopped short when she saw his face.  He was scowling.  She’d seen that look plenty of times before.  As far as he was concerned, the discussion was over.  She wasn’t sure if she should push it.  Her family would certainly be shocked when they met Connor.  Their little sister coming home with a man!  And a hot one at that!  Sylvie never dated in high school or college for that matter.  She’d always been a wallflower.  No one had ever paid much attention to her, let alone asked her out on a date, or to a party, or to a dance.  She’d always been shy and skittish around boys.  That’s what happens when you’re skinny and plain.  And since the girls wanted to hang with the boys, she never had girlfriends either.  Not unless they wanted to pick her brain: copy her homework or class notes, have her edit their reports or term papers.  Having Sylvie in a class was often a mixed blessing.  Though she took meticulous notes and always knew what the reading assignments were, and could always be counted on to explain a problem or concept with more detail and clarity than most teachers or professors, her test scores frequently skewed the curve.  That made Sylvie, who was always the smartest girl in class, unpopular with her fellow students.  Ergo they shunned her.  No matter how hard she tried to make friends, Sylvie always felt awkward in social situations, out of her element, unable to fit in.  So she retreated, devoting herself to her studies and her books.

Her brothers and sister probably thought she was asexual.  They would certainly be astonished at the change in her.  It was not just that she had a boyfriend.  It was the way Connor made her feel: pretty, desirable, treasured.  She used to feel like an ugly caterpillar; now she was a butterfly.  He did that!  She had no idea how they’d react to the realization that their baby sister might actually be having sex.  But as far as she was concerned, they’d better get used to it.  Her brothers and sister hadn’t been saints before they got married.  They’d shacked up plenty.  Sara and Shawn moved in together a couple of months before they got married.  And Luke and Jessie cohabited for three years before they tied the knot.  As for Matt and Kelly and Mark and Rebecca, she was damn sure they were doing the nasty long before they decided to wed.  And Ben, well Ben was a whole ‘nother story.  He was the male equivalent of a whore, or rather a nymphomaniac!  She suspected he banged girls two at a time.  He certainly wasn’t celibate!  Hell, even her father was going at it!  Why should Sylvie be embarrassed to have them know she was living with Connor?  She was a grown-up and could do as she pleased.  She didn’t have to answer to them.  They all knew Connor was her employer, she’d told them that much.  What she’d neglected to mention was that she was romantically involved with him.  Then again, they’d never have believed her if she had.  But seeing was believing.  With the exception of Ben, the difference between her and the rest of her family was that having sex eventually led to marriage.  Unfortunately, she had no idea where she and Connor were headed.  He was not the marrying kind, or at least so he said.

She would die if her father or any of her brothers asked what his intentions were.  She’d only be home three nights and four days.  She was going out Thursday and would see some of her family that night, but having just met Connor none of them would be rude enough to ask him a question like that.  She’d be up bright and early Friday morning to help with the decorations, the setup, and any last minute arrangements and errands.  After that there was the wedding rehearsal followed by a rehearsal dinner at Mark and Rebecca’s.  People would be too tired to broach the subject of his intentions then.  Saturday, people would be rushing around, finishing up the floral arrangements and final preparations, and getting ready for the ceremony and reception.  Once the party was underway, they’d be too busy to ask him anything.  The problem would come Sunday morning at the brunch Matt and Kelly were throwing before her Dad and Miss Kimmel left on their honeymoon.  When everyone was sitting around chatting and relaxed: that’s when they’d most likely broach the question.  The Jenkins men would put him on the spot, blasting him with both barrels.  Her shoulders slumped.  What was she going to do?  Nothing!  It was a losing battle.  Connor had made up his mind and couldn’t be dissuaded from coming.  He had no idea what he was letting himself in for!

‘Before you get back to work, we need to go over the things that need to be done before the wedding.  As I said, I’ll procure the wines.  I have interests in several hotels, restaurants, and clubs in the city.  I’ll make a couple of calls to the managers and have them get some prices from their wholesalers.  And don’t worry, I promise I’ll stay within your budget.  Since the roads up here are twisty and steep with a lot of sharp curves and no guardrails, I’d feel better driving you to Watertown.  I don’t want you out on the back roads after dark by yourself.  The deer come out of the woods in droves the minute the sun goes down; and if you’re not used to looking for them, you could easily have an accident or swerve to avoid them and go careening off the road.  Then where would you be?  There are several areas where there’s no cell service; you could be stranded out there unable to call for help.  Besides, if I go with you, you won’t be inclined to dawdle.  As for getting us a room in Wyoming, leave it to me.  And since I don’t want to go forward with the next chapter until I’ve seen your preliminary edits on the last, I’ll see if I can come up with a honeymoon spot for your Dad to go.’

She opened her mouth to tell him no way, but she could see he was determined.  ‘Fine.’  She sighed in resignation and left the room in defeat.