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Love in the Lights

By: MSTarot



(all characters are over 18 when involved in sex.) 

*

We moved away from the house I was born in when I was five. In a way I was to blame for it, I guess. The quality of grade schools in that area was not as high as in the area we moved to. I can't take full credit for it though, as you could say Dad's promotion had an equal amount to do with the move. He earned a promotion, and with it came a transfer to the central office. Better pay, bigger office space, even an assistant. For him it was wonderful.

Except for the super-long commute into town to work at that central office.

So closer to work for him, better school for me and with more money to spend, thanks to the promotion, Mom wanted a bigger, nicer house.

So, it was my fault. From a certain point of view.

Anyway, the new neighborhood was, I soon discovered, where a lot of older couples lived. They had, for the most part, bought their homes when the neighborhood was first constructed. Their kids were long gone off to colleges or were raising families of their own. To put it simply, there were no kids my own age in any direction for several blocks. The closest one, a girl who I could not stand after meeting her at school, lived father away than I was allowed to ride my bike to. At least till I was in my young teens anyway.

Oh, the school was top notch. My teachers were great. Dad's commute to work? Ten minutes, maybe fifteen if he caught a few lights bad.

So we moved into the new house.

A sad, mad adventure for a five year old. It was fun, till I discovered we were not going to move back to the old house once we got everything unpacked. How I got that idea in my head, I don't know, but it was there. We were moving, yeah, and then when we got everything unpacked...we were going to move back. The logic of a five year old at its very best.

I spent the first few months there as depressed as a kid can be, which is surprisingly pretty severely depressed. A lot of that time was me just trying to get used to the new place. I liked my room. I loved the big backyard, my new swing set. Dad mentioned maybe getting a pool, but Mom shot that idea down before it got going.

I soon just wanted to go home. But...I couldn't. There were some new people living there. That bothered me, that there were strangers in my house. Strangers that I didn't know were in my bedroom. I had nightmares about that for a while, till Mom had Dad take us back by the old house. The new owners had painted the shutters a bright blue. I thought it was funny.

Dad didn't see the humor in it.

We sat there, parked in our car across the street, while Mom tried to explain to me just why that was no longer our place. That it was now someone else's home. Looking back on it, I'm not sure she was talking to me. She may have been, in fact, talking to my dad. He kept up a steady grumble about how the grass wasn't cut properly. About how the blue shutters made the house look tacky.

He grumbled about it all the way back to our new house, and he never would take me back by the old house ever again. Not even when we were close to it.

Summer, as summer always has a want to, slipped into fall. There were far more leaves to rake at the new house than the old, something else Dad was often known to grumble about, so I made huge piles of them. Then I would spend hours just trying to climb to the top of Leaf Mountain.

Halloween was upon us before I could even blink and, armed with a brown paper sack and a Knight Rider costume, I discovered the first bit of joy in my new home. There were a lot of new houses to go get candy from. I raked in tons of candy. I ate mouthfuls of it even as I went on to the next door. I was happy.

And I was so sick.

My bellyache, however, was only just beginning to fade to memory when the second big joy of our new home appeared. As the holidays came roaring in, our new neighbors began to put up Christmas decorations. Tons, and tons of Christmas decorations. The whole street was like a winter wonderland by Thanksgiving night. 

Except for us.

Well, Dad wouldn't stand for that so...out he went, with the turkey leftovers still warm. Hours later he brought home the car with the backseat full of lights and the trunk full of fresh cut cedar. He must have clear-cut a small forest over the next two days, but every window had a wreath and garland at the top of it. And that house had a lot more windows than the old house. Something else dad had was a collection of choice words I was not supposed to hear. That first weekend he worked through the night, by flashlight, held by me, till finally Mom said enough was enough and put me to bed.

Not that I was probably being much help by then anyway. I had quickly gotten bored, and for the last hour, that flashlight had become a lightsaber.

By the end of that weekend our house was ablaze with lights and smelled like it had been attacked by a pine tree. Dad was almost obnoxiously proud of what he had managed to get done. He was wont to go stand in the yard and just look at his masterpiece of twinkling bulbs and twisted greenery. That pride lasted till the next weekend.

When the man across the street, who had no small display already, went for more lights.

Thus was joined the first battles of what would become known as the Eighteenth Street Wars. My Dad and this man, Mr. Jackson, would every year from that day forth try to one-up each other's display. A friendly competition that would truly grow to warlike proportions. Cry forth HOLLY! And loose the candy canes of WAR!

As their men went to the "Halls of Christmaszuma" my mom, and Mrs. Jackson would sit in our kitchen, sipping coffee and laughing at their husbands. Both had given up at trying to restrain their spouses. Probably because it was too funny an insanity to stop. Or maybe they recognized a lost cause. Not even the weather could stop them! Sleet, freezing rain, snow, golf-ball-size hail, blizzard warning...nothing deterred them. So, I don't think Mom and Mrs. Jackson really tried too hard. They just sat back and enjoyed the show.

Now, when the greatest day of the year finally approached, Grandma and Grandpa would come to stay with us for a few days. Now they loved to see me, and I equally loved to see them...but looking back on it, I think I must have gotten on everyone's nerves. I would be constantly asking how much longer till Santa came. Would he be able to find the new house? Did they think he really got my letter and had read it?

I would, after a bit, be sent outside to play in the snow with a shovel. With "Don't come in till supper is ready" instructions. Not that I would have really wanted to go inside, but I would quickly become a red-eared, snuffly-nose, block of ice with green mittens and a red toboggan hat. 

There were times, when I was in that yard with a shovel pretending I was Han Solo on Hoth, that I would hear the crunch of snow underfoot. Turning around, I would see Mrs. Jackson crossing the street to our house. I would go out there to meet her and make sure she didn't fall. She would smile at me, and more often than not, hand me a steaming Styrofoam cup of hot chocolate.

I would always tell her thank you. She would always say, "You're welcome, Timothy."

She had such a nice smile.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** 

As the years of my youth rolled away and I neared my teens, I got to witness Dad and Mr. Jackson refight every major and minor battle of World War Two. With lights. 

Our yard and theirs would often sprout nativity scenes so real, animal control would show up about the livestock. Giant herds of lighted reindeer would be seen to graze on the brown grass. At first they were still, but as the years passed they became motorized and their heads would lift and lower. Then there were the huge plastic snowmen that guarded our driveway. Massive creations with night-black top hats, they glowed like round, white sentinels every night. 

Every tree had its hundred strands of lights. Every bush, hell, every twig that blew through our yard or theirs got some part of it lit with colorful strands. It was sheer madness.

And then it would end.

When December became January an amnesty would be signed. Peace, till sometime in the next November.

It was the strangest thing. Spring would see the two of them often standing for hours discussing the best lawn seed, fertilizers. Dad would take his tiller across the street and turn over Mrs. Johnson's little kitchen garden for her, every year right after he tilled up Mom's. We would caravan to the beach together when summer break started. Then to the mountains every fall when the leaves began to change. 

They would come over to our house on Saturday nights, bringing food, and they would stay till late, far later than my bed time, playing cards with Mom and Dad. They were possibly the best friends my parents had...and maybe that I had as well. Theirs was always the first house I went to trick or treat at each Halloween. Ah yes, Halloween. Threats of divorce from both ladies kept that holiday to a single lighted Jack-o-lantern on each porch.

Then in the middle of all this friendship there would be a Pearl Harbor of lights, either from Dad or Mr. Jackson and the war would be joined yet again. And it was not a bloodless battle either. It got to be quite common for one or both of them to fall of the roof at least once a year.

I, being a patriotic and loyal citizen of 7424 Eighteenth Street, was drafted into Dad's army when I was ten. They called you up young in those days. Hell, I was nearly conscripted the year before, but Mom came to my rescue before I got too far up the ladder. I learned a lot during those cold winter wars. How to string lights from tree branches too thin for Dad to climb on. How to find that one dead bulb in a strand of two hundred. How to get a damn mechanical reindeer to move its head and just how much weight it takes to keep a plastic baby Jesus from blowing out of his manger. 

Life-altering stuff. I still have nightmares from my time in the trenches.

As those years crawled by, our family and the Johnsons grew closer. Those endless days of my childhood seemed to pass so slowly compared to nowadays. Those long winter holidays, spent sledding, making snowmen and trying not to hang by the neck until dead from a strand of Christmas lights. I would help to plant those two kitchen gardens in the spring. I would bake on the hot sands at the beach every summer, always on the look out for jellyfish to poke with a stick. And the fall, my god it seemed those days of leaf-raking were endless.

Mrs. Jackson always had a smile for me. Hot chocolate in the winter. Lemonade in the summer.

I was truly happy.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

As I began to push my way into my teen years I started cutting grass to earn spending money. At first Dad complained that I was wearing out his mower to cut other people's yards. Then, when I had about given up on continuing my career as a junior landscaper, Mom and Mrs. Jackson got together and bought me an old mower of my very own to use. With no other kids nearby, I had a lot of older people who loved the idea of someone young to do their yard work. Dad may still have grumbled a bit, but so long as our yard was cut the way he wanted it, he seemed reasonably happy.

And the Jackson's was the first yard I cut every Saturday morning. Right after cereal and morning cartoons. "Wonder Twins powers activate!"

Mr. Jackson worked for a company that installed elevators in high rise buildings. Because of this he would often travel during the week. Now, Mrs. Jackson couldn't drive, she told me she had never learned how. So I began to run errands for her during the week, after school. She would give me the money and a list of things she needed and I would hustle off to the store on my bike to get her what ever she needed. Once I began doing that for her she spread the word around, and I quickly found myself, not only a landscaper, but a delivery man to the neighborhood. The money I earned, well, except for soda money, went into a bank account Mom got started for me. She told me it was to save up for my first car, since Dad had already said he wasn't going to be buying it for me.

Mrs. Jackson always gave me more than the other ladies in the neighborhood. I told her it wasn't necessary, but she would just smile and say yes it was and insist I take it. I never could refuse that beautiful smile.

Now as much as I liked riding my bike, when my sixteenth birthday was in sight, I was eager to do anything to bring in more cash for that car. So when she called me over to her house that day while waving a piece of paper, I was glad to go. I pedaled my feet off through that nice spring day, down to the store and back with the milk, bread and other things she had sent me for. I must say, that I was surprised, when getting back, I knocked on the door and there was no answer. I knocked and waited, knocked and waited. Nothing.

Crossing over to our house, I got on the phone and called their number. The phone rang and rang.

"Who are you calling?"

I looked up as my mom came into the room.

"Mrs. Jackson. She sent me to the store to get a few things for her, but now she doesn't seem to be at home." I sat the phone back in its recharge cradle.

"Well, maybe she went for a walk. Their key is in the drawer of the table by the door. Get the key, take her stuff over there and put it in the fridge." Mom lifted the sweating gallon jug of milk a bit out the bag. No doubt checking to make sure I had looked at the date on it. "Leave her a note, where she can find it, then make sure you lock up on your way out."

Getting the key, I carried the groceries back across and unlocked the kitchen door. I called out to make sure she hadn't come home while I was away, but there was no answer. It was as I was putting the groceries in the refrigerator when I began to notice a strange sound. Water running. Closing the refrigerator door, I went through the dining room and into the living room.

There was a very large wet spot on the ceiling, in the corner of the room, and water was pouring out through the drywall!

When I was walking to the room, my feet squished through the sodden carpet. Looking up, I saw a small waterfall pouring down the stairs. Going up the wet stairs, I followed this river towards its source. The bathroom door. When I opened that door a inch deep minor flood went across my shoes. I didn't even notice that though. I was seeing just two things. The water pouring over the side of the bathtub like Niagara.

And Mrs. Jackson, naked on the tile floor...the water under her head a bright red!

Grabbing a phone, off its base in the hall, I was dialing 911 by instinct I guess. Going to the tub, I turned off the taps, then knelt down next to her. Ignoring the water soaking the knee of my bluejeans I held the phone to my ear and listened to it ring, as I brushed sodden hair back from her face. Placing my fingers on her neck I took her pulse the way I had learned in CPR class at school. I could see from the rise and fall of her naked breasts that she was breathing.

"This is 911. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"My neighbor has fallen and hit her head in the bathroom!" I quickly gave the address. The woman told me to stay on the line till the ambulance arrived.

As I knelt there on the phone, answering the woman's questions as best as I could, I watched Mrs. Jackson's face to see if she would wake. I wanted to try and find where she was bleeding from but the woman on the phone told me not to move her. My eyes went to the window when I heard the sirens in the distance. They were coming fast. Looking back at her, my eyes went from her face to her chest, then down across her belly. I grabbed a towel from off the bar behind me and laid it across her. 

I heard the big trucks turn the corner down the street and the roar of those sirens! Keeping the phone with me, I ran down the wet stairs and opened the front door. When the firetruck,with the ambulance right behind it, pulled up and stopped a second later, I saw my mom walk out onto our porch. Seeing me on the phone and the firemen getting out she sprinted across the street.

"Tim?" 

"Mrs. Jackson fell in the bathroom. She's unconscious!" The paramedics reached us and I pointed them up the stairs. My mom followed them with a worried look on her face. I stepped out onto the porch and got out of their way when the firemen began to bring in a gurney. It was then I realized I still had the phone in my hand and that the lady from 911 was still on the other end. I thanked her and hung up.

When they brought Mrs. Jackson down the stairs, covered in a blanket, strapped to a backboard with a neck brace on, Mom was right behind them. She still had that worried look on her face.

"Tim? I'm going to the hospital with Emma. I need you to call Mr. Jackson's company. The number is on their fridge. Tell them to call Tom and tell him what has happened. When you get that done lock up their house. I'll call you and Dad from the hospital. Okay?" she asked.

"Sure, I've got it," I answered.

I watched the ambulance pull away. Standing there on the porch listening to its siren disappear into the distance, watching the firemen move their big truck back down the street, I noticed two things. How sick I was with worry over Mrs. Jackson and the fact I still had that damn phone in my hand. Taking it with me to the kitchen I found the number and called it. The secretary on the other end transferred me to someone higher up who listened and then asked several questions, that I didn't know the answers to. The man thanked me, then promised that he would call Mr. Jackson right away.

He thanked me? What had I done to be thanked?

For some strange reason I suddenly felt like I needed to do something to earn that thank you. Looking around, I found where they stored their mop and went up stairs to the bathroom. Draining the tub, I spent the next few minutes mopping up water and blood from the floor. I grabbed up the wet, brown-stained towels from the floor and hung them over the shower curtain rod so they would at least dry. When I went back down stairs, the wet squish of the carpet in the living room drew my attention. 

Going over to our house, to the garage, I somehow managed to dig my way through the million Rubbermaid's full of lights, around the plastic terracotta army of Santas, and through the endless herd of white-wire reindeer to get to the dehumidifier. Carrying it back across the street I hooked it up in their living room. I felt like I should do more, but I couldn't think of anything else. I shut the door and gave a final check of the locks. 

Dad brought home pizza. It was one of the stranger dinners I ever had in the house since we ate not in the dining room but in the living room. We munched pizza and watched wrestling while sitting on the new sofa. Dad cheered on the good guys and cussed the heels, something Mom would have thrown a fit over, and didn't even look at me cross-eyed when I once did the same.

Dad talked to Mom on the phone before I went to bed. He told me there was not much change, whatever exactly that meant. 

Mom came home in the morning and went over to the Jackson's house. She came back with a bag of things for Mrs. Jackson.

"Emma, has a severe concussion. They had to put eight stitches in the back of her scalp as well. The doctor wants to keep her there for the rest of the week. They may let her come back home this weekend if she's doing better. She woke up last night for a bit, and we talked a little. I've been on the phone with Tom several times. He's got a flight coming in this morning." Mom got a change of clothes for herself and then left to go back to the hospital.

Still looking for something to do, I kept the dehumidifier going through out the day. I was over at their house emptying it when Mr. Jackson showed up. I was standing there in his living room, holding the empty tray, as he walked in the front door. His shoes squelched in the carpet, but not as badly as they would have yesterday.


Love in the Lights



"Thanks for that, Tim." He pointed at the dehumidifier. " And thank you for finding Emma. If you hadn't found her and gotten that ambulance her when you did she might have laid there all night long." He reached over and took my empty right hand in his. "Thank you."

His grip was firm, his eyes steady on mine and a sudden wash of embarrassment that I had seen his wife naked came over me in a flood. All I could hope was that I kept it from my face. I looked away as he let go of my hand.

"It was luck," I told him shrugging. "I could have just as easily put the groceries in our refrigerator till I could get her on the phone. It was Mom that suggested I bring them over."

"Well, however it came about thank you. The doctors said they want to run a few more tests but she should be able to come home this weekend. Maybe sooner." He shrugged and looked around at the sodden carpet, then up at the big spot on his ceiling.

"That's good news," I said, unsure of what to say. Kneeling down, I put the tray back in the dehumidifier.

"Yep." He lifted his foot and put it back down. Water burbled up from the padding. "I'm going to have to go rent a shampooer and see if I can pull up some of this water."

"Well, I'll keep coming over and dumping water." I told him as I turned it on. "This will keep mold from getting started at least." 

He nodded then sighed. "I've got to get a few things together and head back over to the hospital. Again, thank you." At my shrug he headed up the squishy stairs. Feeling awkward, I left and went back home. Sitting on the swing, I waved from our porch when he pulled away from in front of his house. He nodded and waved back.

Between them, Mom and Mr. Jackson made sure someone was always there with Mrs. Jackson. On Thursday Mom and I went to the hospital together to see her. We stopped on the way and I bought her some flowers. My idea, but Mom liked the suggestion.

Mrs. Jackson smiled when we stopped in front of her room. She had looked up when Mom tapped on the already opened door. She gestured us in. She had a bandage around her head and was absently pushing food around on a tray. She ignored it after we came in.

"Well, if it isn't my hero. Hello, Timothy." She smiled when I placed the flowers next to her. "Oh, thank you."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Jackson."

She smiled, then looked to my mom.

"It's too bad about all the therapy he's going to need. We'll pay for it of course, since it was my fault," she said with a sad shake of her head.

Mom looked up from settling her purse. "What, Emma? Therapy?"

"Of course, from him seeing my saggy, old self naked. This poor boy could be mentally scarred for life."

"Emma." Mom shook her head. "You're only forty-five."

"That's what I mean. The horror of that for such a young mind. Oh, the horror!" She tried to laugh at the expression on my face, then touched the bandage behind her ear. "Ouch." 

"Do you need something for pain?" my mom asked, looking for the nurse call button.

"No, I'm okay. I just need to not try and laugh anymore though."

Mom smiled then looked down at the tray in front of Mrs. Jackson. "Well, this looks..." Mom grimaced.

"It tastes like that too. Do you think they would let me have some salt?" Mrs. Jackson asked, looking over what was left on her still nearly full tray.

"I can go check." Mom walked out the door, and down towards the nurses station.

"Tom, told me that you set up a dehumidifier in the house. That was a very good idea. Thank you, Timothy." She smiled at me sweetly. "And thank you for finding me."

I shrugged, kind of shy to be alone with her after what I had seen. "It was just an idea I had. The dehumidifier I mean. Everything was so wet, I was afraid things might start to mold." I met her eyes, and she was still smiling, when I looked away I heard a soft chuckle. Then a sound of pain that brought my eyes back to her. She was holding the side of her head again. "Are you alright, Mrs. Jackson?"

"Oh, yes. Just the headache I've had for the last few days." She smoothed out the blanket over her legs. Then she patted the side of the bed indicating I should have a seat."You know Timothy, given that you are my hero... you could just call me Emma."

Sitting down, I shook my head.

"I would never hear the end of it from my mother if I did that." A little embarrassed, I looked at her tray. "She would probably send me to bed without supper!" Laughing, I looked back up to see her smiling at me. Then I had an idea. "How about if I called you Mrs. Emma?"

She broke eye contact and looked down at her tray. There was a soft sigh I just did hear. "Mrs. Emma?" She shook her head. "I must look worse naked than what the mirror has been showing me." Her words were but a whisper, but I was close enough to hear. Then she smiled and looked back up at me. "Mrs. Emma will do fine."

Getting up, I went to the door and looked down the hall. I saw my mother leaving the nurses station heading towards the elevators. She must be going to the cafeteria to get salt.

"Mrs. Emma," I said softly as I turned around. She was looking at me puzzled. When our eyes met, I smiled softly. "You...you looked beautiful."

She blushed, but I saw a slight smile cross her lips. "I did?"

"Yes...I mean, except for the blood coming out your head...I mean you looked..." Hearing myself starting to babble, I looked away.

"Thank you, Timothy."

"Tim," I told her shyly after a moment. When I looked, she was smiling that beautiful smile I've loved my whole life.

"Tim, it is then."

** ** ** ** ** ** ** 

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Tim?" Dad looked up from the Rubbermaid full of lights. 

"Mom said to tell you the airport just called. They said their pilots are complaining that our street looks too much like a runway."

Dad chuckled.

"Tell her I said, not to bother me till NASA calls to say I'm keeping their astronauts awake at night." He pulled the Rubbermaid out the garage and began to lay out bundles of lights across the trunk of the car.

Laughing, I walked down to where my car was sitting at the end of the driveway. As I walked up to it, I couldn't help running my hand across the fender. A Buick Grand National. It might be an eighteen year old beater, with a dinosaur under the hood that drank a bathtub of gas for every mile, but it was mine. Bought and paid for by me. I loved every part of the car, and the almost glowing paint showed the daily work I had been doing waxing it. It no longer showed that it had rolled off the assembly line just a month before I was born.

"Tim!"

Looking up, I saw Mrs. Emma at her mailbox, putting a large stack of envelopes into the box. Christmas cards no doubt, I guessed as I crossed the street to her.

"Yes, Mrs. Emma?"

"Tim, are you going to be busy in a bit? I would like to go to the farmer's market, but Tom is too busy pulling out boxes of lights.

"Sure, I'll take you. Just whenever you are ready, let me know." I dropped my voice to a conspirator's whisper. "Anything to get me out of here before the ladder comes out."

She giggled. "Let me get my purse."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

The farmer's market was about ten miles away, and as we rode, Emma talked a lot at first. Asking me about school, what colleges I was looking at for after I graduated in May. As the miles passed though, she began to be silent for longer and longer. Then I noticed she was watching the red leaves falling from the tree that overhung the road, showering the hood of my car to be swept away. 

She sighed, then turning toward me, she began to look over the interior of the car. 

"You got a good deal on this. I remember back in eighty two when these first came out. They were the hot thing for a while there." She looked over into the backseat. "Although, I remember the back seat being bigger."

She giggled.

I felt my face heat up as I caught her meaning. I glanced over at her to see her looking at me. She giggled again, with a slight blush of her own at the look on my face. She kept shooting me glances and laughing at me the last few miles.

When we got to the market, I found a place to park near the stalls. This late in the year the watermelons of summer were a memory, but the pumpkins? They were in full attendance. Not the gnarled squat ones sold last month for Jack-O-lanterns, but the round pie making type.

I loaded three of these into the trunk while she went to look for apples. As I set the pumpkins down, I swear I could almost already taste Mrs. Emma's pumpkin pie. Looking up, I watched her hips sway as she moved around a basket of pears. A wicked thought came to mind. She had another type of pie that I wouldn't mind a taste of. I sighed away that thought. In the two years since she had her fall there was an image I could not get out of my head. In fact it was an image that had been reenforced each summer at the beach, watching her in her bathing suit. A white one piece, that clung to her curves when wet.

Looking up from my daydream, I saw her walking towards me with her arms full. Rushing over I took the bag of apples then went to the stall she had just been at and brought back the two gallon jugs of cider she had bought. When I got these stored away in the trunk, I turned to see her now carrying a big burlap bag of pecans. Moving to her, I slid my hands under the bag to take it. She let go too soon, then tried to grab at the bag as it began to fall. I did the same. 

We ended up almost nose to nose, with my hands between the side of the bag and her breasts. I could feel a warm, soft, firm and springy at the same time heat pressed into my hand as I tried to not drop the shifting burlap bag. After a second the pecans stopped moving and the bag settled.

"Got it?" she asked.

When I nodded, she let go, and the soft pressure disappeared. I turned to put the bag in the trunk. She walked up beside me and looked into the half-full space.

"God, I love these old cars. So much room in the trunk. You could pack three people into one, easy." I must have looked at her strange, she smiled coyly then explained. "Drive in movies. There were still a few around when I was your age. My brother had a 69 Chevy Impala. I was smuggled into more than a few movies in that car's trunk. Me and my boyfriend more often than not."

Mrs. Emma gave me a wink, then went back to shopping. I watched her walk away. Was she flirting with me?

Needing to think about that, I decided to go grab a few things for Mom. Maybe some...pears. Yeah.

When I came back about ten minutes later I saw that the door of the car was opened and that the driver seat was leaned forward. Her long leg was stretched out and she was leaned inside. Setting my stuff in the trunk, I went around to the other side, and opened that door.

"Tim! Help me get these...blessed...plums! The bag tore just as I was sitting them inside, and they rolled under the seat."

Leaning the passenger-side seat back, I leaned in and started trying to gather plums out from out the floorboard and from under the seat. As I did, I started to catch whiffs of perfume from her. When she moved till she was almost kneeling on the back seat, her head would, at times, be almost right next to my face.

She looked up, her hands full of plums, and seemed to suddenly become aware of just how close we were to each other. Our faces just inches apart. Before I could stop myself, my eyes dropped to the open cleavage of her blouse. The light splattering of freckles covered her skin down to where the lace of her bra began. My memories removed that bit of white cotton, and added the rose-colored nipples to where they should be.

"Did you find them all?"

Looking up quickly, for a second I thought she was talking about her freckles. I saw that beautiful smile, just inches from my lips. Her mouth was so very close to mine, I had only to lean forward to taste it. I had just about nerved myself up to lean forward when she moved. She backed out the car, stood up, and closed the door. I got out my side and looked across the roof at her. She titled her head a little, the edge of her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"I think we need to be heading home, Tim." Her tongue came out to quickly wet her lips. "Tom and your dad may have burned down the neighborhood by now."

Nodding, I walked around to the driver side. When she walked past me her arm brushed mine, and then as we got into the car I saw her eyes drop to my crotch. I realized that the bulge in my jeans had to be very visible. When I looked up, she looked away quickly...But I saw her reflection in the window. For a few seconds, she had a very sexy smile tugging at those beautiful lips. Then, as I cranked the car, I heard a sigh and saw her shake her head. When she looked back at me it was her normal smile. Beautiful as always though.

We talked about the coming holidays all the way home.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** 

I won't say that our whole street was dark, because it wasn't. It was just our houses. The lack of their normal displays did not only dim the whole of the street, but it was a cold dagger in my heart. A dagger that slipped into the hole that was there like it was its sheath. A hole that had begun to form earlier this year.

Mr. Jackson had suffered a massive stroke back in February, while watching the nightly news. Mrs. Emma's frantic call to our house had sent me running across the snowy street, Dad right beside me. Forever in my mind will be locked the image of my dad, his face wet with tears, as we worked together at CPR till the ambulance arrived. Exhausted, I had knelt there on the floor as the paramedics went to work. It was so very surreal. Mom holding a crying Mrs. Emma, Dad demanding answers of the paramedics that they could not give him. 

They quickly took Mr. Jackson out the door. The nightly news continued to play unheeded, telling about the death of NASCAR race driver Dale Earnhardt, the ongoing recovery efforts from an earthquake in El Salvador. An FBI agent was caught spying in Russia. The weather. Sports. All of the normal, every night gloom and doom reporting rolled past my eyes, unheeded, as I tried to not feel as helpless and useless as I was. 

Mr. Jackson lived as a near invalid for four more months, only to die from a second stroke...just as he was beginning to look better. The loss of him while still so young a man was a devastating blow to all that knew him. 

Dad was like a man drained of all his energy. He went about that summer as if his world had ended. Little did we know...

My dad...my dad, given more out of town work by his boss to try and help him get his mind off things, boarded United Airlines Flight 175 to Los Angeles for an early September morning flight.

It had been just a normal day at my college. Nothing more spectacular going on than the normal worrying about this or that test. Then the news reports had begun, just mostly rumors. By the time I found myself in front of a TV...my dad was already dead. Not that I knew that. Not yet. I was just watching the news like everyone else. Seeing the buildings burning, seeing them fall. Horrified, like everyone else. Then the phone call came, and I learned what horror really was.

My mom had been there for Mrs. Emma. Then, Mrs. Emma had to be there for my mom. Me? I had felt so very helpless when Mr. Jackson died, then when my dad was killed I truly was helpless...and I was alone. Alone in a grief that never seemed to end.

Looking out the window of my car I looked at the snow-laden clouds overhead. I wondered what the weatherman had to say. That was all I could really do was wonder. I hadn't turned on the TV since mid-September. I couldn't trust any of them anymore. All they ever showed me was my dad... dying over and over. No person should have to watch that happen as many times as I have seen it.

Mom threw her TV out the front window.

Pulling my new car into the driveway, I shut off the motor and just sat there for a few minutes, just looking at the house I grew up in. It should be ablaze with lights by now. When I got out of the car I saw that white salt haze covered the bottom half of the car. I settled my coat around me, as I wondered why I wasn't concerned over that. With my old car I would have been trying to get that off just as quickly as I could. I knew why though. I didn't love this car like I did that old Buick.

This was the one Mom made me buy. The one she made me take Dad's car to the dealer and trade in. One less trigger for tears, that's what she had said at least. I don't think it helped. I know it didn't in my case. Just looking at the house like this made me want to cry.

I hadn't been home in more than a month.

Not since Dad's funeral. 

We buried a casket full of photos, moments of his life captured by friends and family. Mrs. Emma had, with her eyes dripping tears, placed a rolled up strand of Christmas lights and a photo of our house taken from her porch. Dad had done that at Mr. Jackson's funeral. 

The memories began to tear at me and I had to stop and just stand on the side porch till I calmed down. I took a deep breath and went inside.

When I opened the kitchen door, I could smell the food cooking. Mom had thrown herself into it, trying to forget the empty place that would be at the table this year. I saw her move into the pantry as I stepped inside. Putting my bag down, I made my way to her and wrapped my arms around her as she turned around. She squeaked in surprise, but it was the perfume that alerted me. Startled, I turned her loose and stepped back.

"It's good to see you too, Tim," Mrs. Emma said as she laughed.

"Sorry, I thought..."

She put down the box of cake mix and wrapped her arms around me. When her arms went tight around my ribs, and I felt her bury her face against my chest, I hugged her back nearly as tightly. I could tell that her tears were like mine, hovering just at the edge. I'm sure it seemed to last longer than it did, but I felt like I held her then for an hour. When I heard Mom move into the kitchen I reluctantly let go of the woman in my arms.

"Tim?"

"Hi, Mom," I said. Mrs. Emma patted me on the back and I got out of the pantry door. Mom came over to me and hugged me, briefly. 

"How...how was school?" She asked when she turned me loose. I could hear her voice quiver, even though her eyes were dry. We were all just about cried out from the last months. Her eyes went to my face. "Oh, you're all scruffy!"

"Fine. Schools fine. Things have started to settle down a bit." I absently fingered my chin, feeling bristle I would not normally allow. I also felt grungy. "I'll grab a quick shower before dinner."

She nodded and went back to working on dinner.

Grabbing a chair, I took a seat out of the way, and watched my mom and Mrs. Emma working their kitchen magic. To be honest I watched Mrs. Emma more. She bustled around our kitchen, and I soon saw that it was her that was getting my mother going. It was her energy that my mom was working with.

My eyes, once drawn only to her body, now more often than not tended to linger on her face. I noticed the changes. How her hair, once longer and brown was now worn much shorter than I had ever seen it. There was also gray beginning to frame her face. Those faint lines at the corners of her eyes and the laugh lines under them only enhanced her beauty. Not that she had done a lot of laughing in the last year. None of us had.

As I watched her, I had to acknowledge in my head what my heart already knew. I was in love with Emma. Emma...still called that only in my inner thoughts. When I looked at her face my mind saw past the effects of time to the mischievous girl she must have been at my age. I saw, not a woman with gray hair, but a young woman with a flirty smile. One that had once flashed a nipple at me on the beach when no one had been looking.




Love in the Lights



The woman whose laughter I had come to live for.

"Tim?"

Looking up from the patterns on the tablecloth my finger had been absently tracing, I saw them both looking at me. Mom looked sad and worried.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I smiled at her even though I didn't feel like smiling. "Yeah, I'm okay. It was just a long drive. I've been sitting for hours; I think I'll go take a short walk.

Mom nodded, and turned back to her cooking. She opened the oven to look inside. She shifted the casserole pan of marshmallow-covered sweet potatoes to one side to make room for something else. A small, square pan covered in aluminum foil.

"Well, don't be too long. Your grandparents and your Uncle Bill and his new wife will be here anytime," she told me as she shut the oven door.

"Are they all staying the night?" I asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.

"Yep. Sorry, but it looks like you will be sleeping on the couch." She gave me an apologetic shrug.

I felt the loss of my room then. For the first time really the fact that the bedroom I had called my own, for nearly fifteen years, was now just another bedroom. Mom and Dad had turned my room into a guest room for his parents the week I had left for college. It had been Dad's way of telling me we love you but you're out of the nest.

"Oh, nonsense!" said Mrs. Emma, from by the sink where she was icing a carrot cake. "I have a spare room over at my place he can use while he is here."

Mom looked over at Mrs. Emma, with a frown. "I don't want him to be intruding on you."

"Oh, poo. I have that whole empty house to myself. He's more than welcome to stay." She looked over at me and smiled. "No loud music or drunken parties unless you invite me first."

We laughed, and then after a moment more of watching them cooking, I got up to go take my walk. I didn't really feel like taking one, but there was just too much in my head at the moment. It wouldn't let me sit still. Shrugging back on my coat, I made my way out into the backyard. Gone were the swing sets of my youth. Faint wafts of steam escaped from under a puffy cover on the new hot tub Dad had ordered. Ordered and never gotten to use. In fact, I didn't think anyone had used it... till I smelled a whiff of chlorine. Maybe Mom had been soaking to try and relax away some of her depression.

Just walking aimlessly, I left the steaming tub, and made my way to the garage. Why there? I don't know, but when I saw my old car under its cover I knew why. I had come to say hello to a friend. Or, as I let my hand rest on the fender of the Buick, maybe to pay my respects. The motor had blown up maybe seven months after I got the car, and had been sitting here ever since then. Looking over at a nearby table, I saw the layer of dust on the boxes of new car parts. Mr. Jackson had told me he would come over to help me tear down the engine, and show me how to rebuild it. 

He never got that chance.

Looking up into the rafters, I saw where mom had made Dad move the plastic lawn people after she had sprained her ankle tripping over a shepard. They had all been banished out here, poor Mary, Joseph, and Frosty. Out here in the cold with only my dead car for company. I had the idle thought that they must be wondering when they were going out to the front lawn.

I heard the crunch of tires on the driveway.

Looking out the door, I saw Grandpa pull his Cadillac into the driveway. He probably had the new one already. He traded in his car every year. Had since long before I was born. As I walked towards them I saw the side door open and Grandma struggling to get out. Her cane had become a folding walker, in the last few months. Burying her eldest son had aged her by years. 

I was just helping them with the luggage when I saw a gigantic Suburban land-yacht turn the corner, come down the street and pull up into our driveway behind Grandpa's car. There were college football flags flapping from their little white plastic poles at every window. When all the doors opened, I saw that Uncle Bill had brought all four of his new step-kids along. I wondered if Mom had known they all were coming. When I heard their chatter, I also wondered just how far towards hypothermia I could stand to go before I had to go inside.

Now, admittedly, I had met my uncle's kids at my lowest point in life, and as much as I hate to prejudge someone after only one brief meeting...I really don't like them. They were all spoiled rotten. The girls, well, they put me in mind of the rich girl from Charley and the Chocolate Factory. And the boys...well, let's just say I don't care for them at all and leave it at that.

Come to think of it, since Dad's death, I can't say I like Uncle Bill all that much either. 

Going inside, I played nice. I answered all the expected questions about school. I told Grandpa how much I liked his new car. It looked just like the old one to me, but what do I know. That earned me a five minute description of all the 2002 Cadillac's new features. Then Uncle Bill wanted to know about the college football program at my school.

I escaped that trap by hugging Grandma. As I held her I noticed how frail she seemed. How little strength was in her arms to return my hug. Oh, please God. Not another funeral this year. Not this year, please...or the next.

Mrs. Emma came out of the kitchen then, drying her hands on a paper towel. She got warm hugs from my grandparents. They knew her like she was almost family. Bill and his wife greeted her with polite courtesy. Cool, but polite. Everyone did smiled when she told us dinner would be ready in about thirty minutes.

"Well," she said. " I'm going to go get changed. Make a few phone calls to some relatives, and I should be back about the time everyone is getting seconds."

Mom hugged her tightly. "Thank you so much, Emma. We'll wait till you get back to start eating."

"You'll do no such thing." She leaned in to whisper to my Mom. "Not even this many people can eat all the food we cooked." She grabbed up her coat from by the door. "Just go ahead, and I'll fix a plate when I get back."

I watched her through the window as she crossed the street to her house. The lack of lights on it really stood out and brought home just how alone she looked walking up her sidewalk towards that dark house. It tore at my heart, burning into places that were already dreadfully sore. I let the curtain fall when her living room lights came on. I was about to head for the kitchen when I heard Bill's stepson, Roger, talking to his mom in the next room. The one all the coats were being placed in. I moved towards the voices.

"Why is that old lady eating with us?" he demanded.

"I don't know dear. I didn't ask." Bill's wife had her back to me when I stopped in the doorway. I watched her fussing with the expensive looking fur collar of her coat.

"Well, I don't want to have to sit next to her," he said after a second. "Or those other two. Old people smell."

His mom gave a small sigh. 

"Now, Roger, that's not nice. Or smart. I want you to remember what I told you about Bill's parents." Her eyes cut to me standing there, and she went silent. Roger gave me a look that nearly got him his teeth handed to him. Moving away from the door, I saw Uncle Bill in the hall by the dining room, talking to his other three kids. He also stopped talking as I got close.

I didn't say anything to them, just walked past to the end of the hall where I had left my travel bag and grabbed it up. Stepping into the kitchen, I saw Mom heading towards the dining room with her hands full of silverware. I caught her elbow.

"Mom, I'm going to head over to Mrs. Emma's. I'll grab a quick shower over there and get into my dinner clothes." I turned my head towards the dining room. "I'll be back in awhile."

"But Tim...?"

"Mom," I stopped and looked towards the hall where I could hear one of Bill's kids running. I felt my teeth clench together, even as my knuckles whitened on the strap to my bag. "If I don't get out of here for a few minutes, I'm going to say something I shouldn't."

The running feet went up the stairs, and Mom and I glanced to the crystal chandelier in the dining room as it began to sway over the table.

"I understand. Try not to get in Emma's way," she said. I saw her close her eyes, take a breath, and count to ten. 

"I'll try not to," I assured her.

Figuring the kitchen was the best way out, I ducked through there, out the side-door and into the cold. As I got outside and started towards the Jackson's, my eyes fell on Grandpa's Cadillac. It didn't take much to figure out what Roger's mother had been telling her son about Uncle Bill's parents.

Shaking my head, I headed across the street only to stop half way. Snow? Looking around, I watched and saw a second flake drift down. By the time I got to her porch and rang the bell, the flakes were really starting to fall. I watched them as I waited. Mrs. Emma opened the door wearing a floor-length, white, flannel bathrobe.

"Oh, Tim. Come on in. My goodness, is it snowing?"

"Just started. Wish I had walked over with you." I pointed to the bathrobe. "Sorry for just showing up but I was on the verge of step-kin murder."

Smiling she held the front of her robe a little tighter together and laughed. What a delightful sound. The tight lines around her blue eyes lifted as she giggled. "I can understand. I was just about to step into the shower. Make yourself at home. You know where everything is, right?"

"Yes, and thank you again for this," I said, following her up the stairs.

"It's no problem, Tim. Be kind of nice to have a man back in the house." She flashed me that flirty smile I remember so well. "Even if it is only for the weekend."

Standing at the door of the guest room, I watched her walk down the hall to the bathroom, half hoping she would look back and catch me watching her. She didn't. I soon heard the water turn on.

Looking around the guest room, I could see that not much had been changed about it since I had helped Mr. Jackson paint after the flooding. Setting my bag on the bed, I half expected to hear his voice. That deep grumble my dad always teased his friend about. 

Unloading my bag, I got out my shaving kit, and then started to look for the leather case I carry my good watch in when I travel. I felt a sudden need to outshine my uncle's kids. They had been dressed so very nicely. Not finding my watch I began to tear my bag apart. By the time I had gone through everything at least twice, I heard the water turn off down the hall. Then a few minutes later there were footsteps.

"I left you plenty of hot water."

Looking up, I saw her standing at the door. She was in her robe, but now her hair was wrapped up in a towel turban. Her face was flushed from the hot water. I don't think I have ever seen her look more sexy. She smiled at my scrutiny of her and then looked at my clothes laid out on the bed. She pointed towards them.

"When I get dressed I'll get my iron out and get those wrinkles out for you."

"You don't have to do that. My family is used to seeing me wrinkled," I said, even though I was secretly ecstatic that she woulds do that for me. I remembered Roger's pants having seams so sharp they could cut. I went back to looking for my watch.

"I don't mind." She watched me for a few seconds. "Are you looking for something specific?"

"Yeah, my watch. I carry it in a case with me when I travel; it's the one Dad got me when I graduated. I must have left it in my dorm room." With a shake of my head, I laid down the empty travel bag.

"Tom had several nice watches. I'll get you one of his," she offered.

"No, that's okay." I shrugged and began to put clothes back in the bag.

"Tim, I promise he won't mind."

Looking up, I saw the sadness, the loss in her face...in those blue eyes. Then she was gone from the door. I listened to her footsteps fade wishing again I had packed that stupid watch but for a different reason..Just so she wouldn't have gotten sad.

Grabbing my shower kit, I headed to the bathroom. As I closed the door behind me, a memory flashed. The vision of her laying on this floor came and went in a second. Feeling that out-of-place feeling, I stripped down. Uncomfortable, I got into the shower and let the hot water chase away the cares of the day. Let it try and wash the anger I felt towards my uncle. Towards his kids. Towards my dad...

I finished quickly when the water began to get cold, just as I was washing my hair. Her shower caddy had bottles of fruity shampoos, and I had a travel bottle of the type I normally use, but she had left out two bottles on the counter next to the shower. Obviously for me to use, so I did.

Wrapping a towel around my hips, I draped the one I had dried my hair with around my neck and headed back to my room. With my shower bag bumping my hip I came to a stop in the doorway. Mrs. Emma had an ironing board lying on the corner of the bed and was ironing my slacks to crisp pleats. Leaning against the frame I just stood there watching her move. She seemed almost to glide like a dancer as she went about this simple task. I watched how her body moved within her dress. She was wearing that blue dress that I had once seen on her years ago. The one I had loved because it seemed to hug her hips so very well. I had to keep the smile from my lips as I watched those hips dance. Then I noticed that the zipper on the back of the dress was only just past the half way point.

Moving over, I stopped behind her and when she stood up to shake out my slacks I caught the zipper. My fingers wanted to go down so very badly, but I made them go up. The back of my knuckle brushed her soft skin all the way to her neck. She looked over her shoulder at me as I slowly zipped her up.

"Thank you. That is getting harder and harder to reach every year. I may have to retire this dress soon. Either that or just face the fact it will always have the back unzipped," she giggled.

I let my hand rest on her shoulder for a second.

"You're welcome. Thank you for doing that for me." I nodded towards the ironing board with my chin.

She smiled at me, laid my folded pants next to my folded shirt and turned around. I saw her eyes drop to my bare chest for a second, then they jumped back up to meet my eyes.

"You're very welcome,Tim." Suddenly she closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then I saw her eyes squint up and a shudder of grief pass over her. Her head dropped, and she hugged her elbows as a second shudder passed over her.

"Emma, what's the matter?"

Opening her eyes, she looked up at me and blinked away a few tears. She smiled, reached up and patted my chest.

"It's nothing. Nothing. Just the smell of that shampoo. Silly memories, I wasn't thinking when I put it out for you to use." She patted my chest again and sniffled back a tear. "You smell like Tom."

Reaching up, I pressed her hand tight against my chest and held it there as I lifted my other hand and brushed away that slowly falling tear. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do to bring him back for you. Someway that could take away all your tears." I longed to take her into my arms, but I settled for squeezing her fingers a little tighter. "If I had thought about the smell reminding you, it being painful for you, I would have used something else. I had my own shampoos with me."

"Oh, nonsense. No harm is done. I'm just being an emotional ninny." She shrugged. "The shampoo needs to be used any way, or I'm going to have to throw it out. You can take it with you when you leave if you like." Her eyes dropped to where her hand was on my chest. For a half-second I felt her fingers move in the sparse hairs, then she took a deep breath and looking back up, gave me a smile. Her hand pushed against my chest, and I backed up and turned her hand loose. She moved around me to unplug her iron.

I saw her brush away another tear. 

"Good thing I didn't put my makeup on yet. All these silly tears and I would have me looking like Tammy Fay." We both laughed, though mine felt a bit forced to me. "Well, you get dressed. I've got to go call a plastering crew to help me put my makeup on. I know it's a futile attempt but I have to try and look beautiful."

"You don't need makeup to look beautiful, Emma."

She stopped at the door and looked back to see me smiling at her.

"Well, thank you, Tim...but you're blind." She started to pull the door closed, then stopped. A frown made her eyebrows crease. "You called me by my name. I think that is the first time I have ever heard you call me that."

"My mom is not here to deny me dinner for doing so, Emma." I grinned.

She smiled back. "No, she's not."

** ** ** ** ** ** ** 

The yard was powder white when we headed over for dinner. I held her hand as she walked down her steps. She smiled at me and took my arm. I felt on top of the world at that moment. If we had been going out to eat somewhere, a nice restaurant perhaps, it would have been perfect. But dinner was across the street, at a house with no lights...and my family, with all the current drama, was waiting.

I took her coat when we got inside, she smiled and mouthed thank you. Going towards the den, I could hear my mom talking. I saw the pile of coats across one chair, so I laid ours across the blanket press and headed for the kitchen. A quick glance into the dining room, and I saw that it was packed with people. Most of the food, I though, seemed to have been moved to the buffet table, but as I entered the kitchen I saw that there was still several dishes left on the counter by the stove. The loud voices from the dining room, Uncle Bill talking about football, almost seemed to grate on my spine, so I grabbed a plate and filled it from what was on the counter. 

I pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table, which was filled with cakes and pies, and moved to the small side table. The one Mom uses to sign checks at when she pays bills. Sitting down, I dug into a bit of everything I had on my plate. Everything was delicious, by far the best meal I had eaten in months, but it could have been ashes from the fireplace. That quick look into the dining room had shown me Bill's wife sitting in Dad's normal place at the table. Her brood of children were beside her, with Roger sitting next to Grandpa.

Absently pushing a bit of sweet potato casserole around with my fork, I realized just what it was I was staring at after a second. The blue envelope on top of the stack of power and water bills was from the funeral home.

Suddenly, missing my dad more than I could bear, I leaned back from my plate. How? How could he be gone?

"Tim?" Mom's voice startled me, as she came into the kitchen carrying an empty pitcher of tea. She shook her head seeing me sitting in the kitchen. "We would have made room at the table!"

I shook my head.

"It's comfortable here. I have plenty of elbow room, and the conversation is more stimulating." I pointed to the ceramic rooster sitting on the table next to me.

Mom shook her head and went into the pantry. I watched her bring back out a gallon jug of Milo's tea. She filled the pitcher full of ice from the bag in the cooler next to the freezer, and then poured in the tea.

"Tim, I'm glad you came home for Thanksgiving. I'm glad your here. I really am. Now would it be asking too much if I asked you to try and be nicer to your new cousins?" After a moment I gave my head a slight nod. She gave an exasperated sigh and picked up the pitcher. "You could at least go to the living room and keep Emma company."

Mom was back through the door and into the growing conversation chaos of the dining room. I could hear Uncle Bill still talking about last weekend's big game. You would have sworn by the way he talked that he had been the coach. Maybe the quarterback, and half the other players as well.




Love in the Lights



Standing up, I cleaned my plate in three quick bites. I put my plate in the sink then grabbed up a smaller plate from the table. A large slice of pumpkin pie, and a refill on my drink and I was heading around the dining room by the back hallway.

Emma was in what Dad had always called the comfortable corner of our living room, sitting in front of the fireplace, just staring into the fire. She looked so very sad, her plate there beside her the food looking hardly touched. I could see in her the same reluctance that had kept me from the dining room. No desire to be around a large crowd of people that didn't seem to share your pain as fully. She looked up at me when I came in, smiled, but said nothing. I put down my plate and went to the stereo nearby. This time of year there was a local station that constantly played holiday music. I left the music playing softly and went to add another log to the fire. 

The crackle of the new wood and the sound of Bing Crosby singing didn't completely drown out the noise from the dining room, but it did mute it. I sat down next to her. She looked over, gave me a tired smile then went to looking at the fire. The new wood sent out tiny, blue puffs of flame.

"A sad year, all around," she said softly.

"Yeah," I answered just as softly. As if to bring too much noise into this room was some how wrong.

"You know Tom and I weren't much older than you when we met. The years seemed to run by so very slowly back then. Now they seem almost to fly. It feel like it was just yesterday that Tom and your dad were arguing over who had the tallest decorated Christmas tree." I nodded, remembering last year. "We thought, even last year, we had so much time ahead of us. Decades still to spend together."

The look on her face tore my heart.

"Time just takes everything away. Throws all your plans for living someplace warmer, once we got older, into the trash. Crumples up carefully planned dreams like they were so much blank paper." Emma look over at my face. "I remember when we your age, oh we thought we would live forever. Time takes that away too. It took my Tom from me, and your dad from you and it didn't even care how badly it hurt us." She sighed and looked back to the fire. "It will take me one day too.

Hearing her say that ripped the tear, breaking my heart.

"No time soon," I tried to assure her.

She picked up her tea from beside her and looked into the depths of her cup as if to read her future in the leaves.

"No, probably not. The women in my family live well into their eighties, for the most part. That's about thirty more years." I thought that had brightened her up a bit till I heard the soft, feathery whisper. "Alone"

I got up from my seat by the hearth, and knelt down on the floor in front of her. I took her hands in mine. Her hands felt cold, so I tried to give my warmth to her fingers.

"You are far too beautiful and wonderful a woman to spend all that time alone. You will find someone, Emma. And they will love you with all of their heart." Even as I said those words I knew in my own heart that I wanted that person to be me.

She chuckled ruefully.

"Tim, I'm a fifty year old, going gray widow. I can't drive a car. I haven't held a job since before you were born. What I once did has been replaced by a computer I don't know how to use." She shook her head and reaching out brushed a lock of hair back behind my ear. "You need a haircut." She must have seen in my eyes I wasn't going to let her change the subject. She sighed. "Oh, I have Tom's pension money to live on and some money we were putting away to buy a little place in Florida for when he retired. I'm not anything like rich. The house, luckily, was just paid off but other than that I don't really have anything going for me that would attract a man."

Her eyes dropped to the middle of my chest, and a single tear rolled across her cheek.

"Nonsense. You have a wonderful laugh." I tightened my fingers on her hand and she looked back up at me. "You have a beautiful eyes and an incredibly sweet smile."

She started to make a face expressing doubt, but I spoke again before she could.

"You still have Mr. Jackson's car. You can learn to drive it. If my fool-self learned at sixteen I know that you can. And I know that you could work any job where it's something you already know how to do, and from what I've seen that's a lot."

She went to speak but again I didn't give her the chance.

"You look great in a bathing suit." Her eyebrows popped up towards her hair line and her cheeks flushed with a bit of color. I dropped my voice lower. "And from what I remember you look great without one too."

She looked down, blushing scarlet, but I saw just a hint of a smile grace her lips.

Letting go of her hand, I reached over to where I had been sitting by the hearth and picked up my plate. 

"And to top it all..." She looked up at me, that slight smile playing at her lips. I grinned at her. "You make incredible pumpkin pie."

She burst into laughter, as I picked up the last bite. She reached over and lightly popped my shoulder, even as she continued to laugh.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Two of Bill's step-kids, the boys, came in at that moment, and Roger immediately grabbed the remote from the table. He turned on the new TV that Grandpa had bought for Mom. It was too big and heavy for her to throw out the window like the old one. The kid then turned the volume up over the radio and began to flip channels.

After exchanging a look, we got up, abandoning the living room to the kids. 

I stopped and turned off the radio on my way out. The girls came rushing past me at the door, and when I looked back the smug look Roger was giving me just about cost him a trip through that front window. I was still in an inner boil when I got to the kitchen. Emma and Mom were putting away food. Seeing a need, I took on the job of loading the dishwasher after first rinsing the dishes in the sink. By the time I had the dishwasher almost loaded, I looked around and all the food was put away. How they got it all in the refrigerator I don't know, but I think crowbars and maybe shoehorns were involved.

Bill's wife came in then asking about where our extra sheets were kept. Thus diverted, Mom took off on a wild linen chase leaving Emma and myself in the kitchen alone. I found myself watching Emma tightening the three liter soda bottles and putting them back in the pantry closet. It amazed me how, in her hands simple tasks became like watching a stage play. I locked down the washer and set it to running. Then wiping the sink and counter dry, I was leaned back against the dishwasher feeling the heat in my lower back, when Mom came walking back in looking harangued. She gave the kitchen a quick look around.

"Good enough, thank you both," said Mom looking around. "Anything else...can keep till morning."

Emma smiled, and wiped her hands on the dish rag I had been using to dry the counter. "Hun, I'm going to get out of your hair. One less person under this roof would do you a world of good."

Mom, looking at wit's end, fished a bar stool out from under the island and had a seat.

"Emma, thank you for all your help today."

"Oh, poo. It's been my pleasure. Thank you for inviting me over to dinner. Everything was wonderful." She gave Mom's shoulder a soft pat.

"Of course it was Emma. You fixed half of it!" said Mom with a tired smile.

At that moment I heard Roger yell for his mother. Mom flinched and my teeth ground together. No yelling or running inside the house had been the rule my whole life. Dad had always enforced it, no matter whose house we were at. Uncle Bill knew about this rule, but it seemed he wasn't going to make his kids obey it. Mom, being the polite host, didn't want to come down on his kids. I thought about saying something, but knew it wouldn't stop at just that. There was no way I could keep my temper. Not this year. 

No, not this year. So I just bit my tongue and stayed silent. 

Emma watched us for a second, and then moved to the cabinet next to the fridge. She got out what she was looking for and, coming back to the island, sat three shot glasses down. She filled each right to the top with double shot of dark rum. 

Dad's drink of choice, I thought as I picked up my glass.

I have never in my life seen my mom drink alcohol straight, but she tossed back that shot like it was water. I watched Emma do the same, and then I was doing my best not to choke to death on the sweet, fiery liquid.

Emma hugged Mom tight.

"Good night, hun. Try and get some rest." She turned to look at me. "I'll leave the door unlocked so you can..."

"I'm coming with you. Let me get your coat." I headed for the hall way.

Mom looked up from her empty shot glass. "Get your own as well, young man. There's already about a foot of snow out there."

I heard the bottle tap glass behind me as I left the kitchen.

Gathering our coats from the blanket press, I also grabbed one of the big umbrellas. Thsi time of year the snow is nearly as wet as rain. Looking into the den I saw that Grandma was asleep in the soft chair. Walking over to her I didn't wake her, but placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. Grandpa had the radio on and had turned it up louder than the TV in the next room. He looked up at me and smiled when I stopped by him.

"Where you headed, Tim?" he asked.

"I'm staying across the street, while I'm here. The house is a bit crowded and Mrs. Emma offered me her spare bedroom," I told him as I shifted coats and umbrella to take the hand he held out to me.

"Well, have a...good...night." He winked at me. Then his face split into a grin that I had to return. 

Returning towards the kitchen, I stopped and diverted when I saw Mom and Emma by the front door. I held out her coat for her to slip into. For a second my hands rested lightly on her shoulders, and then I was struggling into my jacket. Stepping out onto the porch, the cold rush of air a shock, I shook out the umbrella as I looked at the yard. Mom hadn't exaggerated by much. There was nearly a foot already on the yard and more was coming down fast.

Mom told us goodnight, and we started across the street. Emma walked close to me under the umbrella, holding tight to my arm as the driveway and street were already getting slick with ice. When we got to her porch, I saw the front lights of my house flash, then go out as Mom closed the front door and shut them off. How very dark it looked without its normal seasonal blaze of colored bulbs.

But then so did Emma's house.

She unlocked the front door as quickly as she could and we got inside. I left the umbrella in the stand by the door and hung my jacket next to Emma's coat. The snow flakes on the shoulders of both were already starting to vanish.

"God, my hands are frozen." She rubbed her arms and headed for the kitchen. "I have coffee, tea, or hot chocolate? Take your pick."

"The coffee sounds good. Want me to get a fire going?" I asked pointing into the living room.

"Oh, would you? That sounds wonderful. Take the chill out the house." She frowned then. "I haven't restocked the wood bin. The wood is still out back."

"I know where it is. I'll get it," I told her.

Going to the back porch, I got a large arm load of wood from the stack, carried it in and put it next to the fire place. Then I went back for another arm load. I knelt by the fireplace and got a fire started. I opened the flue wider, and it didn't take long for it to become a nice cheery blaze. Emma came in carrying a tray of cups, sugar dish, and creamer. There was a small table by her fireplace she sat this on.

"I'm going to go get my flannel pajamas on. Even in that short walk, the cold has gotten into my bones tonight." She headed up stairs.

I took a sip of my coffee, and after I was sure the fire was going good, went upstairs myself. In my room I pulled out a pair of comfortable sweat pants and a soft, long-sleeve T-shirt. Ducking into the bathroom with my travel kit, I brushed away the last of dinner, put my toothbrush away then headed back down stairs. 

Emma was curled up on one corner of the couch, sipping what smelled like chai spice tea. She was in a red and brown, checkered, flannel nightgown and robe.

"Wondered where you went to." She slipped her feet out of her soft house shoes, tucked her feet under her robe, and then pulled them up under herself.

Getting my coffee, I looked around and decided on a spot. I sat down on the carpeted floor in front of her and leaned my back against the arm of the couch. After a moment, I felt her feet move till they were against my back. With half-closed eyes I sipped at my coffee, feeling the heat of the fire on my face. Then I felt her fingers brush my hair.

"I wasn't kidding earlier, by the way. You do need a haircut." Her fingers idly lifted my hair and let it fall back, then did it again.

I chuckled. "I keep forgetting to stop and get one. I had one right before Dad's funeral."

"I remember. You looked so handsome in your suit that day." I felt Emma shiver against my back. "I can almost still hear those guns."

Dad had received a full military funeral. His coffin full of pictures got a gun salute. It wasn't so much that I could hear them as sometimes I almost thought I could smell them. That gun powder smell of cordite, like strike-anywhere matches, had been carried on the wind that day right into my face. I had been breathing it as I listened to that low, haunting music as his flag was folded.

"Yeah, me too." Turning, I looked at her and smiled ruefully. "Like you said, sad year."

She nodded, sipping at her tea. After a second I saw her bite the corner of her lip a bit. "If you'll pardon me being nosy, I noticed that you and your step-cousins don't talk much."

"Yeah..." I shrugged. "I can't say I know them well, and I'm not really inclined to get to know them. I met them for the first time at Dad's funeral. Over heard the oldest one, Roger, make a snide comment about how he thought it was stupid to bury an empty casket. I had met their mother before then, but she has always been so nose-in-the-air about everything. Like she's from such a better class of people than we are. I have noticed, that ever since they were married, Uncle Bill has been hanging around Grandma and Grandpa a lot more often."

Emma sighed. 

"Of course. Especially now, with your father gone, he's set to inherit the lion's share." Emma set her cup down. "I try not to get involved in other people's family business, but I've told your mother it's not right. I know, from conversations I had with your dad years ago, that his brother almost never went round to see their parents. You father was always the one having to go help them with anything."

"Exactly. And no, it's not right." Shaking my head I sipped at my coffee. It was starting to cool. "I don't like to say too much, since it will just get thrown into my face that Grandpa paid for most of my college tuition."

Emma smiled then

"I've talked with your grandfather. He probably won't tell you, but he is incredibly proud of you. Of your grades! They got you into that college. His money may have helped pay for it, but all of his money couldn't have put you there... if you hadn't had the grades you did. He said he would have paid twice what he paid for your tuition."

I didn't know what to say to that. I sat back quietly, looking at the fire for a bit. When I turned my head, I noticed she was looking at me. When I looked around she grinned.

"So, are all the girls at school chasing after you?" She smiled that naughty smile of hers. The one I had first seen on the beach, years ago, when she flashed me.

After a moment, I shook my head. "No. Not really."

"What? Why not? With that hair and those pretty eyes they should be." She looked puzzled.

I shrugged.

"It's the same story as when I was in high school. I just don't seem to have a lot in common with my own generation. I don't like the music much, and a lot of the college kids just seem to be there to be seen. They all want to be part of a group. If you're not part of this sorority, that club, that fraternity, or 'their' political party then they don't really have a lot of interest in you."

She nodded. 

"Some of that could be our fault." At my raised eyebrow she smiled. " Your not fitting in. We dragged you around with us everywhere we went for so many years, you didn't really have a lot of time around people your own age."

I shook my head.

"I can't complain. Other than the madness around Christmas time, I had a normal enough childhood. Now that Dad is gone, I even miss that. So no complaints." I finished the last sip of my coffee, now quite cool.

She picked up her cup and took the last sips of her tea. When she put it back down she absently brushed my hair back from my eyes.

"I can't recall seeing a girl at your house when you were in high school either. What's the matter, Tim? Don't you like girls?" she teased, grinning.

"No," I said.

Her eyes opened wide.

"I like women."

She smiled. "Oh, good answer." She lifted her eyebrow. "Well? Have there been a lot of... women? Or am I prying?"

I shook my head. "No, you're not prying, and no there haven't been."

She tilted her head a little. "No girlfriend at college, no girls at high school and no women..." I saw her eyes suddenly catch light. "Oh, my! You're a virgin aren't you?"

I looked away. I could feel my ears redden.

She tapped me on the shoulder, and I reluctantly turned to face her.

"Oh, Tim... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so nosy. I didn't mean to embarrass you. You don't need to be embarrassed though. There is no rush. Most people want to be rid of their virginity like it's a terminal thing. As if they don't have sex before they are twenty they might explode or some silly thing. The time will come, and believe me, the first woman you are with... will love you for it. She will know that no matter how many women you're with in your life, she will always be remembered."

Emma's fingers brushed the side of my face. I had to fight not to lean my head into her hand.

Swinging her legs to the side of me, she got to her feet. I got a wonderful view of long pale legs when her gown slid to one side.

"I want more tea. Would you like more coffee?"

"Please."

Taking my cup, she pointed to the couch. "Keep my seat warm."

I moved up onto the couch, the cushion radiating a soft warmth. I watched the fire crackling its way down. It had a good bed of coals now, that gave off plenty of heat but not a lot of light. My mind on a million thoughts, but empty at the same time, I listened to her in the kitchen. The distant clinks of metal on glass. Then after a moment, silence.

When Emma came back, she had a blanket and the two cups in hand. She turned off the hall light with her elbow, leaving the living room lit only by the fire and a small lamp in the corner. I was about to move when she stopped me. She put the cups on the table next to me then sat herself down on the other end of the short couch. Facing towards me, she draped the blanket across her legs. When she was settled I handed her the cup of tea. She smiled, and took a sip, and then I felt her burrowing her feet in against my side. Her face, with that soft smile, half-lit by the fire, took on a nymph-like quality. The fire made her eyes almost shine.

"Well, I've pried into your private life enough for the moment. It's your turn I guess." I must have looked shocked because she giggled.

"How do you mean that?" I asked.

She shrugged. "If you have any questions ask away. If you haven't learned by now, I have no shame."

I pondered that for a second. "Really? Anything?"

She nodded.

"When did you give away your virginity?"

She shook her head. "Oh, you would have to ask me that. Now I'm going to sound like a hypocrite for telling you it's okay to wait." She took a sip of her tea. "First, you need to understand something. When I was in my teens I wasn't considered a child. My older sister was married at fourteen. She had two kids before she was eighteen." Emma sighed. "I was fifteen, and looking for a husband. I thought I had found him. I was wrong. He was just a guy, after what all guys want. Oh, he told me hew loved me and would always be with me. He said he wanted to marry me and would just as soon as he could afford to buy the ring." She shook her head. "I believed him, and one night in the backseat of his father's car I gave away what I shouldn't have given to him."




Love in the Lights



She sat quiet for a second, looking into her cup

"But you still remember him?" I asked.

She looked up, blinking. Then smiled. "Oh, yes. His name was Jordan. He was dark haired with dark eyes. He played football in high school. Even went on to college on a sports scholarship."

"What happened to him?" I asked, looking at her eyes.

She shook her head.

"I don't really know. I know he married, I heard that from my sister. I met Tom and moved here. I do hope he had a good life. I know I have." She shrugged silently.

"Would you go back and change it if you could? Never give it away till you met Tom?" I paused as I realized I had just asked something she might feel very strongly about. I picked up my coffee to hide my unease.

She shook her head. "You can't do that. It's too major a life event. Even if you could go back in time... to say change one little thing, not a big thing just something small, it would unravel everything that makes you... you." 

"How do you mean?" I asked, setting my cup back down on the table.

"Well, my father...back when I was very young, had the chance to buy a large piece of land. We didn't have a lot of money at that time, but we could have gotten enough together to buy the property. My father decided not to buy it at the last moment." Emma blew across the top of her tea. "Now years later that land sold to a developer for millions. Father regretted that he had changed his mind for the rest of his life. But if he had...my sister would have never met her husband. I wouldn't have felt like a child and been looking to prove I was a woman. I wouldn't have slept with Jordan, and he wouldn't have left me. I wouldn't have met Tom. I wouldn't have moved here, and I wouldn't be your neighbor."

She gave me a lop sided smile. "Would I be the same me, if all that had happened?"

Pondering that question, I sat looking at the fire for a few minutes. When I looked up she seemed to be lost in her thoughts.

"Your father passed?" I asked softly.

She looked over at me blinking. "Hum, what? Oh, yes. Years ago. The year before your family moved in across the street in fact. Why do you ask?"

"I was wanting to thank him for not buying that land. I would hate not having had you for my neighbor," I said.

She smiled, her eyes twinkling in the fire light.

"Well, thank you Timothy." She grinned as she used my full name, something she hadn't done in years. "You might have done better though if we hadn't. It might have been a young couple living here, maybe one with a beautiful daughter about your age."

I shook my head. "I wouldn't change that. If I could go back, I wouldn't change that for anything."

She smiled, pleased, and took a sip of her tea.

"So what would you change? If you could change something,what would it be?" she asked me, teasing, her flirting smile there. 

Catching that playful tone, I was about to see what she would say if I told her I would have kissed her that day at the farmers market. But even as I went to say that, another thought came to mind, and stole that happy thought from me. She saw my face as it fell.

"Tim? What is it?" she asked concerned.

I took a deep breath.

"I would change my dad's plane ticket."

For a second I saw her lip tremble, and her eyes shined. Inside I felt that grip of sorrow, pain, and loss wanting to tear at me, and then that hated image of the plane hitting that wall of silver flashed before my eyes. The fireball...I looked towards the fireplace but had to close my eyes as these soft, gentle flames made what my mind was showing me all the worse. I felt her move, and then she was sitting beside me. She reached past me and set her cup on the table next to mine. Then her arms were tight around me, holding me to her. I awkwardly put my arm around her and pulled her tighter, wanting, no needing that closeness. That comfort. There were no tears, but the agony hadn't dimmed in the passing of two and a half months.

"I know, Tim. I know." She gently rocked me in her arms.

Turning my head, I buried my face in her hair, the warm scent of her perfume filling me. The soft comfort of being held began to push back at the hard agony of what this year had taken from me. Her warmth fought against the terrible images that tried again and again to flash through my mind. After a bit I softened my hold on her, not wanting to hurt her, but I did not turn her loose.

It was as my pain began to recede that I realized she was getting comfort from this as well. Her losses were, by their very nature far closer, more personal and intimate than my own. How? I asked myself. How could anyone endure what she had? To see someone you love so fiercely fall to nothing before your eyes, all the while being helpless to make it not happen. How?

We sat like that for quite awhile, holding one another, giving and receiving comfort just by each others' presence. In that time the fire burned down to a point I should have gotten up and added more wood...but I knew I would not be the one to let go first.

I felt her move, and looking, I found her face just inches from mine. Here eyes met mine and she slowly smiled.

"I get through every day thinking that he wouldn't want me to be sad. I know that your dad would feel the same about you." She eased up on her hug, and I reluctantly turned her loose and sat back.

"I know but... I miss him. And Mr. Jackson," I added quickly as I thought of it.

She giggled.

"I think he wouldn't mind if you called him Tom," she told me, her eyes blinking away tears.

I nodded.

"He told me to on more than one occasion." I shrugged. "It's like with me calling you Mrs. Emma. Mom always insisted on my being formal with my..." I paused as I caught what I was about to say to her.

She heard it anyway.

"With your elders?" she asked grinning. She poked me in the ribs, and then moving a bit, snuggled into the side of me. She spread the blanket over both our legs. I lifted my arm out of the way, then put it around her. She looked up at me for a second, as if surprised by that, and then she snuggled in tighter to my side.

After a bit I handed her the cup with her tea and we sat finishing our drinks in peaceful silence. That quiet, however, began to grow too think after a bit. She nudged me in the ribs.

"Penny for your thoughts," she offered.

I looked up from the soft glow of the fire on the hearth that I had been looking at. The same light was playing across her face, putting it half into shadow. I smiled.

"That penny might embarrass you," I told her.

She shook her head and grinned at me. Then she lifted an eyebrow when I didn't answer. She gave my ribs another nudge.

"All right, you strike a hard bargain, but... two pennies."

Taking a deep breath, I found my courage, and I made the choice that I knew I wouldn't regret.

"I was thinking how beautiful you look in the firelight," I told her.

For a second she seemed pleased, then her lips twisted into a grimace. "Yes, low light would help the way I look."

"Emma!"

She looked up at me, surprised by my tone.

"You are...the...most beautiful...woman I have ever known." Setting down the coffee cup I had absently been holding, I lifted my hand to her face and slid it down to her chin. A little pressure and I moved her face up out of the shadows and into the golden light fully. "You are incredibly beautiful and incredibly sexy... and I have thought that for as long as I have known you."

Emma looked stunned. Her expression changed from flattered, to pleased, then sad and then through a half dozen more as she looked into my eyes. She slowly shook her head and, reaching up, touched my cheek.

"God, if you were thirty years older or I was thirty years younger I would..."

Leaning in, I kissed away the last of her words. Whatever she would have done had our ages been closer became lost in that kiss as our lips touched. 

It wasn't my first kiss, but it was the first I ever gave someone who I loved and desired. Her lips tasted of chai spice. They were warm and soft against mine. I felt her hand go to the back of my head, her fingers sliding into my hair. For a moment she was pulling me closer, her lips aggressively seeking mine. Then slowly her fingers moved out of my hair and around to my chest. As I felt her pushing against my chest her lips slipped away from mine, and I opened my eyes to see her looking at my face just inches from hers.

She sighed.

"I'm sorry, Tim...I can't." She took a deep breath. "It's too soon for me, and I am far too old for you. I'm older than your mother is. You're a young man; you shouldn't be kissing a old woman like me. You need to be chasing after girls your own age." Emma smiled and her hand brushed my face. "She will be so very lucky to have someone so wonderful that he made an old woman like me feel young again. For a few seconds at least."

She went to pull away, but I caught her hand and pulled it to my chest. Just over my heart. I knew she could feel it pounding against my ribs.

"Emma, I'm not a virgin for lack of opportunity. I'm still a virgin because I wanted to lose my virginity to the woman I'm in love with." Keeping her eyes caught with mine, I pressed her hand harder into my chest. "Emma, I'm in love with you. I always have been."

I saw her catch her breath, her eyes taking in every inch of my face. Slowly she shook her head.

"Tim, I..." She stopped, swallowed, took a second deep breath, and let it out in a sigh. "I don't know what to say. There's a part of me that feels ecstatic. That wants to...needs to...believe what you're saying. It is very nice to be in your arms. To feel the comfort of a man's arms around me. A man I wouldn't mind calling my own. You're very tender-hearted and sweet. I've missed that these past few months. Missed it and needed it so very badly!"

She pulled herself away from me then and sat on the edge a small distance from me so we were not touching. She hugged her arms around herself, warding off a chill that was more than the cold. I reached for her shoulder, but I saw her shake her head.

"The rest of me. The rest of me knows better than to listen to that part of myself. I'm a fifty year old woman, Tim. And I know young men. I know how they are, even if you don't know yourself. Young men are so flooded with hormones. They make you crazy with desire. They lust for anything female." She went quiet for a second then sighed. "I'm sorry, Tim. I'm sorry if I have led you on...in any way. You'll have to forgive that I forgot what all those hormones do to a man your age. I've been flirting with you. Sitting here curled up with you, like I'm your girlfriend. We've been talking about my sex life for god's sake! I'm sorry. All I can truly say in my defense is I've been lonely since Tom passed, and it was so... so very nice to feel a man next to me again."

"You don't have to be alone. I love you. Please let me take your loneliness away." I reached for and took her hand into mine.

She looked back at me and a smile crossed her lips. Sad, but understanding.

"You may want me, Tim. Which is flattering as hell...but you don't love me. Not in that way. You may think you do, but I'm a gray haired old lady who should be baking cookies with grandchildren. Not tempting young men."

She pulled her hand away from me and looked away.

Getting up, frustrated to explain what I felt in a way she would believe, I walked over to the fire. Standing there, the heat of it warming my legs, I had to calm myself. To explain how I felt I had to be calm.

"Emma..."

"No, Tim." She shook her head. "No, I can't. Perhaps...perhaps it would be better if you called me Mrs. Emma." She looked away from my face.

So simple a statement, yet I felt like my heart had just shattered. The calm I had been searching for fled. In its place was emotion, raw and hot emotion, and memories. Memories from years and years for feeling the way I do now. 

"When we first started going to the beach together every summer you wore a blue two piece. It wasn't till I was around ten that you started to wear the one piece suit. You changed because a teenager whistled at you, and then laughed. You used to wear your hair longer. It was right before the fourth of July, eight years ago, that you cut it like you have it now." I paused and took a deep breath. "I heard Dad telling Mom that he thought you looked better with it longer. She shushed him, told him that older women don't look good with long hair. I saw that you overheard her say that. You've never worn it long since then."

She was listening to me but not giving any response.

"You used to wear a thin, yellow dress in the summer. It had these tan polka-dots. You wore it every summer for years and years. I loved seeing you in it...after I noticed that two of the polka-dots would move."

She blushed scarlet, but there was a bit of a grin trying to peek though. She still didn't look up at me though. Crossing to the couch, I dropped to my knees in front of her. I took her hand in mine. She wouldn't meet my eyes.

"I thought my life had ended when I found you on the floor of your bathroom! I don't even remember calling 911. I knelt there on those bloody, wet tiles, my fingers frantically trying to find the pulse on your neck. Emma, I was a teenager, with all those raging hormones you were talking about. You were naked before my eyes, and yet other than a single glance, my eyes never left your face! I covered you with a towel to protect your modesty when I heard the sirens."

Now it was my eyes that were down cast. Her hands were holding mine now more than the other way around. I could feel it when she looked up, I knew her eyes were on me. I didn't look up as I confessed to something so very secret.

"I wanted so badly to have kissed you that day at the farmers' market. You moved, just as I found the courage to do so. If you hadn't..."

Her finger was under my chin, and I let her lift my face for her view.

"Emma, I have been in love with you for years. I have wanted you, desired you, fantasized about you." She blushed at that but didn't look away, "I don't delude myself. I know that you don't love me like that. Tom was the love of your life. I can live with that...I have lived with that for a long time. But Emma... don't tell me I don't know what I feel for you. I love you."

Twin tears rolled from the corners of her eyes to cross her cheeks.

"I love you, Emma. I am not Jordan. I'm not a young man simply after what all young men want. I am still a virgin because I chose to be. Because I have that gift to give but one in my life and I wanted the woman I love to have it. Not just any random girlfriend, but the woman I love. You."

I saw her bite her lip, and then she looked down at our joined hands. Her delicate fingers absently traced the swirls on the back of my knuckles. I took a deep breath, feeling my stomach a crawl with nerves. I almost felt sick from the purging of so much emotional anguish.

"If you say no..." I nodded, and sniffed back a tear. "That's okay. I'll stay as I am. If you say it's too soon since Tom passed... I'll wait till you're ready. This 'gift' is yours." I chuckled suddenly. "Unwrap it when you wish."

She giggled. I saw a single tear, alone now, roll down her cheek to drop to our joined hands. It rolled off hers onto mine.

"Your mom is my best, and truth told only real friend, Tim. She has been there for me through a thousand times of pain. She's listened to me bitching when I needed an ear to fill. Tim, if I was to do this she might hate me." Getting up, she left the blanket to fall at her feet. She walked past me to the fireplace, and I turned to watch her. The room had darkened as the fire died down. I could just see her silhouette back-lit by the light of the fire. "I remember that day at the market. I nearly kissed you."

She turned her back to me and looked down into the flames.

"That a man as young as you could find me attractive, I was... Damn it! You made me feel sexy!" She stamped her foot, a gesture that made me smile. "It had been so long since anyone other than Tom had made me feel that way."

I rose up off my knees and moved over to stand beside her.

"I never once, in thirty years of marriage, thought of cheating on my husband, yet there I was about to kiss the son of my best friend in the back seat of a car! Damn you!" She stamped her foot again.

I placed my hands on her shoulders, I could feel her trembling. But it was, I realized maybe from laughter.

"Yes," she said after a moment. So softly I hardly heard her. She turned to face me, standing in the circle of my arms, looking up at my face. Her eyes were wet with tears again. "I would love to have that gift from you,Tim. And no. I don't want to wait..." She flashed me that naughty grin of hers. "I want to unwrap it now."

Smiling, I leaned in to kiss her again, but her hand was on my chest stopping me. Her face suddenly because serious again.

"I ask only, that in the years to come, you don't come to think that giving it to me...was a mistake." Her voice seemed to get caught in her throat. 

"Never!"

I pulled her tight up against me. I felt her body trembling, and I knew I was doing the same. She tilted her face up to mine, and I kissed her for the second time. Her lips were hard against mine, demanding attention now, and I gave it. 

As we kissed I felt her start to push me back towards the couch. When I felt the cushions against the back of my knees she let go of me and pushed against my chest. Sitting down, I looked up at her. She smiled looking down at me, her hair like gold fire now. She turned and walked over to the lamp in the corner. She turned off the last light so that only the dying fire lit the room.

Walking past me, she knelt, brushing a quick kiss across my lips. She picked up the blanket and moved towards the fireplace. She spread out the blanket on the carpeted floor before the hearth. 

Stepping onto it, she looked over at me. Slowly, she dropped her robe to the floor. She unbuttoned the top of her nightgown just as slowly. When she had only the waist still buttoned, she opened the front and let it drop to the floor in a puddle of flannel. She slipped her panties off with a nervous energy.

Emma stood naked in front of the fire, her body golden lit from behind. As I watched she knelt down and then lay down in front of the glow. Waiting for me.

My eyes took in her body as I pulled my shirt up off me. The soft curve of her beasts, the dark patch of hair. It was all as my memories had kept it. Time had done little to change her since. As I stepped to the edge of the blanket, I caught the edge of my sweats and stripped then and my underwear off together. Naked before her, I watched her eyes roam over me, as mine were doing to her.

Lying down beside her, I leaned over her and tasted her lips against mine. Her tongue came out to meet mine, her fingers digging into the back of my hair. I laid my hand on the soft warmth of her stomach.

Pulling back from the kiss, I smiled at her. "I know how to do this, but any advice would be a help."

Emma giggled. Reaching around to my back, she pulled me down into a long deep kiss. I felt her hands cross my shoulders and run down my sides.

Her body was soft and yielding against my chest. I slid my hand across her side, but stopped at the side of her breast not wanting to move too fast.

She must have sensed that hesitancy. She giggled, and then she took that hand and moved it till the warmth of her breast filled my palm. My fingers closed softly around a nipple.

"Umm," she moaned.

Kissing the side of her neck, I felt her fingers touching me. Her hand wrapped around my cock and gave a gentle squeeze.

Her fingers caressed the back of my neck as I was kissed the side of hers. With soft touches of my lips, I made my way down onto her breast. My lips touched her wine-dark nipple, and it stood taut up from her skin. My tongue licked softly. I sucked her into my mouth.




Love in the Lights



"Ah. For someone who hasn't done that before, you're very good at that." Her voice was a breathy whisper.

Looking up, I too whispered, almost afraid to break the spell of this moment.

"Beginner's luck."

She tightened her fingers around my cock making me groan.

"I want you to touch me now," she told me softly.

My hand left her breast and drifted across her belly to the tight tangle of curls. The hairs were soft and yet wiry at the same time. Moving down, I felt my fingers brush the puffy swollen lips, and then they sank into warmth, slick, wet and warm. She gasped as my fingers moved through her inner lips.

I felt her breath by my ear.

"I don't get wet as quickly as I did when I was younger. You will have to go slowly, or you could hurt me. Try to sink a finger into me."

She shuddered next to me as I did that. It felt indescribable. Like putting a finger into warm pudding. She tightened around my finger as a gasp, and then a moan from her, sent shivers through me.

"Then again, maybe I am that wet. Oh, god!"

I had pushed a second finger in beside the first. She shifted her hips a little and my fingers sank in deeper. Exploring her outer lips with my thumb, I found the little nub at the top.

"Oh yes. Slowly. Small circles."

I rubber her clit softly with my thumb, letting my fingers move back and forth a bit inside her. The slick wetness of her increased and her breathing came faster. With a moan she spread her legs wide pressing her heels into the blanket. She lifted herself up to my fingers.

"Tim, please..." she moaned. "Now."

Nodding, I moved my hand. Lifting myself up, I slid myself over on top of her. Her legs came up my sides. I felt her lower lips touch the tip of my cock like a wet kiss. When I tried to push forward she pressed against my chest stopping me.

"You're too high," she said with a smile. "Here."

Reaching down between us, she pushed me down a bit. I felt her wet outer lips almost lick at the head. Then, with a nod from her, I pushed inside.

A gasp rose up from both of us as I sank into her. When I bottomed out I must have been grinning because she giggled a little and touched my face.

"You can rest your weight on me more. You won't hurt me. Come down till you're on your elbows."

I lowered myself onto her, still not wanting to hurt her with my weight, but she moved a little and I seemed to find just the right spot. I gave a thrust, then a second. I could feel her pussy gripping me tightly. Then the inside of her began to grip me in pulses.

"How are you doing that?" I asked, surprised at the sensation.

She laughed and gripped me even tighter

"I'll never tell," she told me grinning.

Her hands moved down my back, and then she dug in her nails near my ass. I felt her hips move under me. One of her hands came up and caught the back of my head. She pulled me down closer, kissing at my neck. I could feel her thighs, getting wet now with sweat as heat built between us, clasped tight to my hips. Her breast moved against my chest. Emma's breath was warm against my neck.

"Oh, Tim. Oh, Tim... That's right. That feels wonderful. A little faster now!" she urged.

I began to thrust harder into her. I heard a whisper of a deeper moan next to my ear.

"Harder. Yes just like that," she begged. Her hands, now both on my hips, pulled at me with every thrust driving me deeper. "I know you're close Tim. Just let it happen. It's okay, this is for you." Her voice was a soft whisper in my ears as she kissed my neck. 

I felt her moans through me as my breath quickened. The primal, more primitive part of me took over then. Arching my back, I drove myself into her as hard as I could. I heard her whimper, and that whimper drove me on to even great effort. Then she cried out as I began to cum inside her, and her fingers raked across my side!

" Yes, oh yes, Tim. That's it. Cum for me!"

I uttered a wordless sound as I flooded into her. My breath came in spasms. Then gasping for breath, trembling, I felt her pull me down onto her.

"Oh, my man. My beautiful man." She ran her fingers over the back of my head as I lay on her breasts, trying to catch my breath.

Looking up at her, still breathless, I saw her smile at me. Her face flush in the firelight, her lips trembling. I wanted to kiss those lips forever.

"I love you," I said, when I finally could.

Smiling, she nodded. "I know, Tim. I know." She hugged me to her tightly. In my ear I heard her whisper. "I love you too."

To hear that from her, at that time, released the tears that hadn't been able to fall before. I clung to her as they ran down my cheeks. I heard her chuckle softly then hug me tighter. Her hands caressing my back and neck. I felt her lips kiss my ear then the line of my jaw, my chin, my lips. Looking up at her I saw her beautiful smile. Her eyes were wet, but merry.

"Women are suppose to cry when deflowered, not men." Brushing away a tear, she pushed up against my chest.

I took my weight up on arms that trembled and somehow lifted myself up. I saw her shiver as I slid out of her. The air of the room was a cold shock after the hot warmth of her.

She caressed my face.

"My wonderful man. Thank you. Thank you for that precious gift." She moved me till I lay flat on my back beside her. She snuggled in against my chest, her arm across my stomach.

Slowly, as I was able to move again, I brushed my fingers through the damp hair by her ear. The fire's light had turned brown to red and gray to gold.

Looking down at her, our eyes met, and we just looked at each other. She lifted herself up till she was looking down at me. A soft kiss, then another followed. She trailed fingers across my chest. I caught her hand as she started to get up.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

Smiling, she leaned in and kissed me lightly.

"For future reference, my delightfully new man, when you cum as hard and as strong as you did in me just now, a woman has to go to the bathroom." She pushed herself to her feet her legs unsteady for a second. I must have been grinning at that. Smiling, she picked up a pillow from a nearby chair and tossed it at me. "Rest. I'll be back. I promise."

I watched the curves of her ass as she walked away.

Taking a long, deep breath, I put the pillow under my head. Then a shiver ran through me. Without her beside me the room felt cold. I tried to get up to add wood to the fire, but my legs trembled. Finally, after two attempts, I got to my feet.

Reaching the table by the couch, I took a sip of my now cold coffee. On unsteady legs I went to the fireplace and started adding logs. I soon stoked the coals to a cheery blaze. Then I moved the blanket back a bit and lay back down just as Emma returned. She looked at the fire and smiled. Nodding, she sat down on the floor beside me. She handed me a bottle of water.

"Oh, thank you." 

She smiled as I guzzled down the cold liquid. I watched her take a wash cloth, warm to the touch, and start to wipe me clean of our juices. She watched me as she cleaned me. She smiled when I flinched. She knew how sensitive I was.

Emma leaned over me to place the washcloth by the fire. Her breast hung under her near enough to my face that I rose up and caught a nipple.

She let me suckle for a bit them pulled away. Her hands, now empty, they began to roam across my chest. Everywhere her hands went her eyes followed. She explored every curve of my ribs, then the flat of my stomach. Then lower.

As her fingers touched my cock, but her hands felt soft. Like warm velvet, she caressed me.

Closing my eyes, I lay back onto the pillow. I felt her other hand come around to cup my balls lightly. I moaned a little as she brushed the hairs back from the base of my cock with her fingers. A soft feeling like silk then warm breath startled my eyes open. I looked down to see her placing light kisses on the head of me.

Catching my eyes, she smiled with that mischievous look in her eyes.

"I know you have never felt this before. Call it my gift back to you."

As I watched, hardly believing what I was seeing, she took me into her mouth. The warm heat spread through the length of me, and I felt myself very quickly start to harden. I was hard as a rock when she ran her tongue up the underside.

"Oh my god!" I moaned.

Her mouth, soft and tight with suction began to pull at me. My fingers went to her head and curled into her short hair. I felt her head rise and fall under my hand. Looking down, I saw her holding me firm at the base, her head slowly bobbing. Her lips, tight around me, went from top to bottom and back. Like wet silk it felt.

Shudders of pleasure and lust racked me. She dug her nails into my inner thighs lightly clawing at me. Her mouth moved now in a slow rhythm. I gasped for breath, whimpering when she stopped and sucked hard at the tip, her tongue pushing at the opening. It ran underneath following a vein down to the base. Laying my head back, I closed my eyes. I felt like I needed to crawl away from her while begging her not to stop at the same time. 

Breathing hard, I moaned under her skillful work.

My eyes popped open as I felt a little nip of teeth on the underside! I looked down to see her looking up at me, wickedly grinning.

"Don't close your eyes." She licked from my balls to the tip then around the head. "The show's half the fun."

I shuddered and clawed at the blanket as she ran her teeth, first down the length of me, then up. She caught the head of my cock and licked hard at the underside.

How long I lasted under her efforts, the blanket bunched in my fingers, I don't know. I'm sure it wasn't as long as it felt. To me it seemed to go on for hours. A slow, wonderfully agonizing torture of pleasure.

I screamed as I began to cum. My fingers clawed away the blanket, finding the carpet underneath. She held me steady by my hips and sucked harder. I arched my back as she took the whole length of me in, then back out to the tip. I could feel my cum shooting out in bursts, and I began to feel like she was trying to suck marrow from my spine as she greedily pulled more and more from me. Her fingers stroked the length to get even one more drop.

I brought my hands around to both rest on her head as the last drops spilled into her warm mouth.

"Oh, my god, Emma! Oh, please!" I gasped for my every breath.

Her mouth slowed, but continued to work. Softly. Gently. I would shudder whenever her tongue touched me. I groaned as she gave one last long, hard suck. She only pulled off me, her teeth dragging the skin, when I was completely soft in her mouth.

Lying back, I closed my eyes just trying not to pass out.

I felt her kissing her way up my stomach to my chest. Opening my eyes, I saw her lay her head down on my chest, looking up at me. She was watching my face with a smile.

"That..felt incredible," I told her when I had breath.

She grinned, licking her lips "Didn't know a gray-haired old lady could make you curl your toes, did you?"

I shook my head "Oh, what a wicked woman I have."

She laughed and snuggled in beside me.

"I want to lay on the couch with you holding me," she told me after a bit. "It would be nice to fall asleep watching the fire with you warm against my back."

Rolling over, I kissed her softly.

"You haven't cum yet, have you?" I asked, looking into her eyes.

She looked up at me sleepily. Then shook her head. "I don't do that easily. Never have. We can save that for another night, because as much as I would like to cum, I would like to sleep. Will you hold me as I fall asleep, my lover?"

I brushed her soft, damp hair with a finger. "That would be the end of a wonderful night,"

I kissed her again then helped her to her feet. Lying down on the couch, she lay down next to me, and I covered us both with the blanket. With me spooned up against her, we snuggled into one another as the room slowly cooled. She took my hand and moved it to her breast, and I cupped it softly.

Breathing the scent from her hair, my eyes started to get heavy as I watched the fire crackle down. I heard a soft, sleepy whisper.

"I love you."

Kissing the back of her head I whispered back

"I love you too. Always will."

** ** ** ** ** ** **

Light and a rush of cold air woke me.

My movement woke Emma.

The look on my mom's face woke us both!

She stood in the open doorway. I saw that she held a bag of what looked like my clothes. It fell from her fingers to the floor.

Slowly, in a daze, she turned and closed the door behind her. Then she turned back to look at us. Emma sat up and pulled the blanket across her chest. I could feel her begin to tremble against me, as Mom looked at her.

Then Mom's eyes went to my face. 

"There are a lot of things you don't expect to see. This has to be near the top of the list." Reaching down, she grabbed the bag with my clothes and threw it at me! It hit the back of the couch right by my head.

"TIMOTHY! I raised you better than this! Emma has been through hell this year, and you do this! How could you take advantage of her like this?" she demanded.

"Mom it wasn't..."

"DON'T YOU SPEAK TO ME! I'm disgusted with you!" She cussed in frustration and turned to leave.

Somehow I got from behind Emma and across the room before she could get to the door. I caught her arm, but she yanked it out of my hand. She turned around her eyes blazing.

"I love her, Mom."

Her eyes bore holes into my face. Her nose was flared out, and she was trembling with anger. Though she had never done it before in her life, I was expecting to fell her hand at any second, slapping me. I heard Emma clear her throat behind me. We both turned to look at her. She sat on the couch, the blanket covering her chest.

"I could have told him no." She hugged the blanket close. "I didn't want to. I haven't felt like this since I was a very young woman."

Mom looked at Emma then slowly back at me. I saw her face start to soften. She looked down and slowly shook her head.

"We need to have a long talk about this." She looked up into my eyes. "I can't say I approve. Not at all." She shook her head and looked away.

"Mom, I love her with all my heart. I have for years. Please...don't be mad at Emma."

Her eyes were back on mine, the fire rising in them again.

"Emma? Emma is it?" she said caustically.

"Well," came a small voice from behind us. "Having him call me Mrs. Emma, while we were making love, would have been way too strange."

Mom looked over at Emma and I saw her lips twitch. She took a slow, deep breath. "I'll be in the kitchen. I'll make coffee for us. Timothy?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"I know I'm your mother and I've seen it before, but clothes. Please."

Looking down, I realized I was standing buck naked in front of my mom. I quickly grabbed up a pillow.

She was chuckling as she went to the kitchen.

** ** ** ** ** ** **

We sat in the kitchen and talked for an hour. In the end, Mom didn't approve, but she acknowledged that I was an adult and that my sex life was not her business no matter who it was with. Or what her age was. Or her distance from the house.

She gave Emma a hug as she got up to leave, and whispered something to her that caused Emma to blush to her toes.

I walked to the door with Mom. Looking out, I saw everything was covered with ice and snow. Uncle Bill's SUV was gone, but heavy deep tracks through the snow showed his path.

"He and your grandfather got into it over his new kids this morning. They left before breakfast." Mom answered before I could ask.

I nodded, a little stunned.

"Tim."

Looking at Mom, I saw her open her arms. I hugged her tight.

"I love you, Tim. Part of me is very proud of you for looking beyond blond hair and big boobs to a real woman. I wish I could say I think it's a good thing, but I can't. There is just too many years between you for this...whatever you want to call it, to last. It's going to take a lot of strength from the both of you."

"I know."

"Do you? I wonder." She shook her head. "Everything is iced up. It may be a few days till your grandparents can leave. Make sure you come spend time with them."

"I will," I said.

Mom stepped out the door and stopped on the porch looking back at me. "Treat her right."

I watched her make her way alone across the icy road. She looked back from our porch and waved. I waved back and closed the door behind me. Turning, I saw Emma standing at the kitchen door looking at me.

"Well, she doesn't hate me," she said softly. Tears rolled down her face. 

Going to her, I took her into my arms. Pulling her close, I held her as she cried. I cannot say that my eyes were dry either. I held her, my face buried in her soft hair, till her tears ended. When she looked up into my face, I smiled. I gently brushed the salty moisture from her cheek. Leaning in, I placed a single kiss upon those lips, felling them turn up into that beautiful smile I love.

"I want to do something today," I said after a moment.

"What?" she asked, as a slow, wicked grin began to tug at her lips.

"Lets break out the lights. Not all of them...but enough to make this place look it should this time of year." I ran my hand through her soft hair, caressing the silky curls at the back of her neck.

She began to laugh, then shook her head.

"And your Mom's house?" she asked.

"I'll work on it tomorrow." I looked at those beautiful eyes so close to mine. "If I have the time."

"Oh, trust me Tim...you won't have the time." Emma leaned in till her lips were right by my ear. "We can put up the lights later. It's my time now. I want you to take me to your bed, Lover."

The warmth of her breath, just under my ear, sent shivers through me and as I picked her up into my arms, she began to kiss the side of my neck. The way her lips felt...I was not sure we were going to make it upstairs to the bedroom.

*

( I would like to thank patientlee for her work editing this story. This is the oldest erotic story I have ever written. It has been sitting unfinished since the winter of 2011. One of the reasons for that was all the work it needed to get it to the point I wanted. "Patientlee, thank you.")