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Distribution

By: REGade



 Chapter 1 Meeting the distribution committee

I'm Brian Driver, age thirty, the owner of several small businesses and real estate in a small upper state New York town. I've never been married, but I am the father of two children. Mary, the children's grandmother, lives with us. 

I've been estranged from my family since I arrived here, nearly eight years ago. I left home because of a girl. She jilted me. My parents never forgave me for abandoning them, and when I disappointed them by fathering a child out of wedlock, they tried to turn my siblings against me. 

Until last night, when my mom called with an assignment for me, I hadn't stopped to think how important my family is to me. I couldn't turn her down; she gave the orders and I agreed to follow them. I'm sure that one day we will have a good laugh about the absurdity of that conversation. She was so focused on giving me my instructions that she didn't ask about her grandson or if I was well.

I didn't have a chance to tell her that since I've been here, I've worked my ass off providing for my family, loved one woman, and have earned some recognition in the community I now call my home. Had she inquired, I would have confessed that I've done some things that I'm not proud of. 

It's dark at this time of day...four AM, a good time to reflect on where I've been and where I'm heading. 

Where I've been is thirty years of growing up, going to school, falling in love with someone who said she loved me, but didn't, moving east, gaining employment, and meeting neighbors who would take me in and make me a member of their family.

At the center of the people that I counted as my family, was Margaret (Peggy) Mendon Stover, a widow, who for six years, kept me centered, grounded, and anxious to please her. 

Another person that gave me reason to get up every morning was Peggy's daughter. Amanda and I connected from the first moment we met, and I would have remained loyal to her even if her mother had rejected me. Fortunately, Peggy not only accepted me, she became my lover, business partner, and she bore me a son. She also permitted me to adopt Amanda, which bound us together for life. Even if her mother would not consent to marriage, Amanda and I shared a special bond.

Peggy was ambitious, and for six years, we prospered. Through her stewardship, our small company grew; making members of our community take notice. 

That's not to say that our lives were without strife. Time after time, we experienced death among family and acquaintances. Each time death struck someone down, it became my responsibility to try to explain it to Amanda. Because of our special bond, she accepted what I told her, but the deaths took their toll on her. Amanda became old before her time. 

The reason for Peggy's sudden death was impossible for me to explain, and Amanda discovered that I was not the authority she'd always held me up to be. There was the same level of trust between us, but Amanda changed. She became my confidant, my advisor, taking on more responsibility than an eight-year-old should have to bear. 

Peggy not only left me with two children to raise, something I was capable of doing, she left me with a complicated group of companies to run, something I was ill-equipped to oversee. 

Eventually, through trial and error, and with the help of friends, I was able to get things under control. There was nothing magical about the way it happened. I did some things that I was not proud of. I also got lucky, making friends with one of my advisors. In addition to Henrietta, I received advice from my dead wife, Amanda, and Marian, a young woman who is positioning herself to become my wife.

As I accept the temporary assignment that my parents have bestowed on me, I'm leaving the company in good hands. John Larkin is young, but everything is in place for him to be successful. I have full confidence in his ability and decision making skills. My bookkeeper, Mrs. Nelson, will keep me informed on every facet of the business. 

What lies ahead? My instructions are to get everything that my father has coming to him from an aunt, that until last night, I'd never heard of before. Aunt Elsie was preceded in death by Uncle Mackey Peoples, her husband of over a half century. That's all I was told about the two elderly people I was suddenly referring to as Aunt Elsie and Uncle Mackey. 

Shouldn't I have been told more? As I drove the last fifty miles, I wondered if Aunt Elsie resembled my father. What did Uncle Mackey look like? What did he do for a living? Had either of them done anything to impact mankind? Was there money involved in the estate? If so, how much money was there? And finally, what had I let my parents get me involved in?

The mortuary was not easy to find, and after getting directions, I arrived late. I was told that the service had been short, and burial was already in progress. I drove to the cemetery as quickly as possible, and saw people getting into their cars. 

On the hillside, there was a bright green canopy, with a few mourners sitting on folding chairs. That's when I realized that I was not dressed properly. It had been my intention to change into my suit before entering the service, but circumstances being what they were, I was still wearing the short pants, a short-sleeved shirt with the tail hanging outside of my pants, and sneakers. Anxious to join the mourners, I got out of my truck, and sauntered up the hill.

As I climbed the hill, I noticed there was a breeze that was ruffling the fringe on the canopy. In the distance, the sea was splashing against the rocks, causing white foam to linger until the next wave broke it up. If it hadn't been for the glum expressions on the mourners' faces, the landscape would have been quite pleasant. 

The mourners were wearing dark clothes. One of them, hat in hand, obviously a man of God, stepped out to greet me. I was forming an apology for the way I was dressed when he stopped me. 

"You must be Mr. Driver. I'm Stewart Martin, the Peoples' Attorney. If you will furnish two forms of identification to my assistant, you may be seated for the reading of the will. Ms. Whitney, will you record Mr. Driver's information?" 

I glanced below, noting how another wave was making the white foam break up. My mind was blank, but if I'd had a thought, I would have welcomed the interruption. Her voice was that soothing. Ms. Whitney was also quite lovely.

"Mr. Driver, do you have two forms of identification?"

I produced my driver's license, and watched her record the information. I saw that she was wearing a black outfit. The jacket had a single button, and the skirt had two slits that exposed dark stockings. Her blouse was lavender, with frills at the bust line. My eyes were fixed on her lips when she looked at my picture, and verified that I was a match before handing my license back. 

"Mr. Driver, do you have another form of identification?" 

"I don't know," I said, searching my wallet.

I heard Mr. Martin tell the group that I was representing my father, Raymond Driver, Elsie Peoples' nephew. "He's driven a long distance on very short notice," the attorney added, to explain the reason I was dressed casually.

I offered Ms. Whitney a business card. In addition to proclaiming that Brian Driver was the president of Driver Markets, Incorporated, it gave the street address, e-mail address, website, and telephone and fax numbers for the business. She frowned, and asked if I had something with my picture on it. I didn't. She asked if she could keep the business card, and I told her that she could.

Mr. Martin was telling the others that my father's share of the estate was forty-four percent, the same percentage as Mr. Arthur Peoples, who was being represented by Ms. Kindle, his daughter, was entitled to receive. In addition to Ms. Whitney, there were three other females in the group. I wondered which one was Ms. Kindle.

Mr. Martin then introduced the others. Ms. Dickens represented the friends of the public library, which was to receive three percent of the proceeds from the estate. Ms. Dickens identified herself by smiling at me. She wore her hair short, parted in the center, with bangs that hid about one-half of her forehead. I estimated her age to be in the upper thirties, and suspected her marital status was single. 

Mr. McMahan represented the church where the elderly couple worshiped. He waved to me, something that was unnecessary since he was the only other male present. In addition to thinning hair, his other distinguishing feature was a gap between his front teeth. I assumed that the church was to also receive three percent. 

Ms. Meriwether represented the food pantry, and Mr. Martin stipulated that its percentage was three percent. She nodded to me. I nodded back, noting that Ms. Meriwether had long, bleached-blond hair, ample breasts, and appeared to be in her early thirties. I wondered how she became selected to represent the food pantry. From the looks of her gaudy jewelry, she'd married well. Was her husband an important member of the community, an office-holder perhaps? Or, had she performed some illicit task at the back of the food pantry? It was fun to picture Ms. Meriwether on her knees, earning her right to participate in the distribution of Uncle Mackey's and Aunt Elsie's assets. 

Now that I knew that Ms. Dickens represented the public library, and Ms. Meriwether represented the food pantry, I was able to identify Ms. Kindle, the one I perceived to be my adversary. She glanced my way, but her expression was indifferent, like she considered me to be an insignificant nuisance, an insect that she could flick away without expending any effort. Her stare could have melted an igloo. 

Still, there was something about Ms. Kindle that held my attention. Like Ms. Whitney's lips, I was captivated by the way Ms. Kindle's blonde hair framed her slender face, the way her shoulders filled out her jacket, and the way her breasts stood proudly, even in the heat of the August day. A set of rings was attached to her left hand like they were a part of her. I wondered if she ever took them off. 

I raised my hand and Mr. Martin encouraged me to speak. "I make the total to be ninety-seven percent. Is someone absent?"

"You are quite right, Mr. Driver. As counsel, and overseer of the funds, my fee is the elusive three percent. However, I will not vote on the decisions you make. My assistant will get you started, and she will look in from time to time to see that everything is running according to the way Mr. and Mrs. Peoples stipulated in the trusts, but Ms. Whitney will serve only as a guide. She has no voting rights.

"Just one final word," he continued. "Mr. Driver and Ms. Kindle are from out of town, and they are entitled to receive living expenses from the estate. But please keep in mind that Mackey and Elsie were fugal people. They would want you to settle their affairs as quickly, and as economically, as possible. All expenditures will be voted on by the group, with the decision ruled by the majority."  

I realized, as the meeting was adjourned, that the actual will had not been read. The participants had been introduced, and the percentage of the estate that their organization would receive was quoted, but the flowery language that usually gives the reasons for the award of a specific item or a certain percentage, had been omitted.

I glanced at the way the waves were bouncing off the rocks. They seemed less forceful than before. Was the tide changing? 

The others were on their way down the hill when Mr. Martin got my attention. "Mr. Driver, there is a man who has been the next door neighbor to the Peoples for a number of years. I've found Mr. Hubert to be ...ah...helpful. He knows the property intimately. I would suggest that you accept his help...ah...guardedly."

"Ah...okay," I said, and seeing that was all he had to say on the subject, I thanked him for the information. There were a dozen questions I would have liked to ask him, but I didn't want to be left behind.  

As we walked down the hill, I overheard Ms. Dickens, Ms. Meriwether, Mr. McMahan, and even Ms. Whitney, offer Ms. Kindle a ride to the house. I think that we were all surprised when she accepted Mr. McMahan's offer. 

Not knowing where we were going, I followed the four cars. After a few minutes, we came to a stop in front of a very plain looking house. White paint was peeling from the clapboards, the roofline looked crooked, and the front windows were clouded. Above the door, there was a black sign that read: 'Circa 1797.' 

Another structure stood in back of the house. It reminded me of the barn that Peg and I had replaced when we first went into business together. In other words, it looked dilapidated. 

I followed the four women and Mr. McMahan to the side door. Ms. Whitney inserted a key, and the door made a squeaking sound as it swung open. 

Inside, we were met with hot, stale air, darkness, and filth. The interior reminded me of Mr. Bennett's house, except that Uncle Mackey's and Aunt Elsie's house was darker. After trying the light switch, and concluding that the electricity had been turned off, I offered to get a flashlight from my truck.

"I think we should meet at the gazebo, and let the house air out," Ms. Whitney suggested, and everyone agreed with her. We opened two doors, and the only window that I was able to budge, and we retired to the gazebo.

It was a hot afternoon, but the shaded gazebo was comfortable. There were bench seats around the perimeter, and everyone had plenty of room. 

Ms. Whitney began the meeting by saying we needed to elect a chairman of the group. Mr. McMahan nominated Ms. Kindle to the position. Ms. Meriwether nominated me. A show of hands elected Ms. Kindle. The vote was ninety-one to six. Ms. Dickens and Ms. Meriwether frowned when I voted for Ms. Kindle to be the chair. 

Ms. Kindle looked around at the other members of the distribution committee before giving us assurance that she knew how to run a meeting. She didn't come out and say that she was an accomplished parliamentarian.

"I'm a paralegal by profession," she began.

That was good enough for me, and watching the expressions on the ladies' faces, I could see that they felt the same way. Even Ms. Whitney seemed impressed. Mr. McMahan voiced his concurrence. "I knew you were a professional, Ms. Kindle."

Ms. Kindle looked taken aback for a moment. "Let's move right along. What's the first order of business?"

"I move that we have the utilities turned on," I said, and Ms. Meriwether was quick to second the motion.

"Let's not forget the Peoples' desire that we operate as economically as possible," Ms. Dickens said. 

"Perhaps we should consider the utilities separately," Ms. Kindle said. "Who's in favor of having the electricity turned on?"

I raised my hand, and saw that Ms. Meriwether had her hand up, too. But she was the only one siding with me. It looked like the vote was going to be forty-seven for, and fifty against turning on the electricity. I stated my argument before Ms. Kindle could ask for the 'against' vote.

"Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie also specified that we were to finish this assignment as promptly as possible. I do some of my best work at night, but I can't work in the dark."

"There are plenty of candles in the pantry."

It was a male's voice, and it had come from neither Mr. McMahan nor me. A man holding a set of hedge clippers stepped out from the far side of the gazebo. "Excuse me, I couldn't help overhearing. I'm Charles Hubert, the next door neighbor. I've been meaning to trim the shrubbery since my dear friends departed this earth. Mackey always kept a good supply of candles. I can show you where they're kept if you plan to use them."

'Ah, the helpful neighbor that Mr. Nelson warned me about,' I thought.  "Thank you, Mr. Hubert. That sounds like we've alleviated Mr. Driver's issue of not being able to work in the dark," Ms. Kindle said, sounding quite pleased with herself. Mr. Hubert looked pleased, too. "I suppose the next utility would be the telephone. Does anyone feel the necessity to resume telephone service for the short time it will take to dispose of the real estate, furnishings, and to make the distributions?"

"Most people have cell phones," Ms. Dickens said, and I watched Mr. McMahan nod his head to agree with her. From the way Ms. Kindle had phrased the question, I was going to be outvoted.

"I brought my laptop computer, and I'll need a land line to communicate with my family and my business."

I wasn't surprised when Ms. Dickens spoke up. "I hope you're not asking the estate to pay for your business expense." 

"My family includes my father, whose interest in the estate is the reason I'm here. He's asked that I keep him advised as to the decisions that are made here. But with respect to my business, you are correct, Ms. Dickens. I'll have the telephone connected at my expense," I said, already planning to keep the phone number a secret. If it was to be my line, I was going to make sure that none of the others used it. 

"Mr. Driver, I just remembered that I may need a land line for my laptop also. If it's all right with you, I'll share the cost?" Ms. Kindle asked. I nodded to indicate that we would share the telephone line. 

"Water?" she asked, shortening her call for a vote to simply naming the utility.

I waited this one out to see if anyone with a sound mind would deny the occupant of a dwelling the very essence of life itself. The show of hands proved me wrong. Ms. Dickens hand remained at her side.

"That's ninety-four votes for, three opposed to the estate paying for the water to be turned on. The motion carries," Ms. Kindle said.

"The water comes from a well. It takes electricity to pump it," Mr. Hubert offered.

I'd forgotten about him. He stepped from the shrubbery and tipped his hat in a happy-to-be-of-service pose. 

Ms. Kindle cleared her throat. "Shall we revisit the electricity question?"

This time, the vote was ninety-four to three, with Ms. Dickens still declaring that electricity and water were expenses the estate should avoid. 

I smiled at Ms. Dickens, not to gloat, but to show her that I held no hard feelings toward her. She dropped her eyes to the floor of the gazebo, raised them, and smiled timidly. Did I have an ally? 

There was still the issue of heating the water. Mr. Hubert supplied the information without being asked. "Natural gas is the only other utility, unless you're planning on re-connecting the cable."

"I'm not planning on watching television, but I would like to have hot water," I said. 

Ms. Dickens raised an objection, which was shot down by Ms. Meriwether, who likened anyone who tried to clean without hot water to someone that lived in a cave. The vote on natural gas carried, ninety-four to three. 

The question arose as to who would call the utility companies to order the services be turned on. I volunteered, saying that I had my cell phone with me. There were no objections, and Ms. Whitney told me that she would fax each company to assure them that I had been authorized to act for the estate.

"Give me time to get back to my office. I'll let you know as soon as I've sent the faxes," she said. I gave her my cell phone number. 

"I move that we adjourn this meeting. I need to clean a place to spread my sleeping bag," I said, and Ms. Meriwether seconded my motion. 

"Wait!" Ms. Kindle said. "I have one request. Can someone suggest a moderately priced motel? By the way, I'm going to need a ride to and from."

"You're not...," Ms. Dickens began, becoming speechless for a few seconds. "You're not suggesting for a second that the estate is going to foot the expense of a motel, moderately priced or not?"

"Mr. Martin was quite specific regarding the estate paying for living expenses. You just heard Mr. Driver say he's going to make a space for his sleeping bag. You don't expect me to occupy the same house with a complete stranger, do you?" Ms. Kindle's face looked drained as she finished her speech. 


Distribution Ch. 02



 Chapter 2 Coming around?

I awoke to see Ms. Kindle sitting at the kitchen table, eating a cold slice of pizza and drinking water from one of the bottles I'd picked up the night before.

Needing to take a leak, I put my sneakers on, and walked out to the rear of the barn where I emptied my bladder. When I got back inside, I found that my sleeping bag had been folded, and the set of pictures of my family had been placed on top of it, along with my flashlight. Ms. Kindle had disappeared.

Cold pizza didn't appeal to me. I opened a bottle of water, and checked my cell phone for the time. It was six-forty-two. 

I grabbed the dust mop and went over the areas I'd swept the evening before, taking the mop outside to shake as I finished each room. It took me the better part of an hour to move the furniture and run the mop over the floor in all the downstairs rooms. As I lifted the game table, I heard something rattle. Opening the drawer, I discovered that it extended from one side of the table to the other, and had knobs at each end. Inside, I found chess pieces and a set of checkers. There was also a deck of cards. 

Before replacing the drawer, I noted the tongue-and-grove construction, and being a lover of old things, I raised the drawer to look at the underside. Inscribed by a thick-leaded pencil was written:

{Block}

April 16, 1936 

This table is given to my son, Mackey People, on his sixteenth birthday for his enjoyment. Son, I pray that you remember me each time you use this table.

Your mother,

Pricilla Pringle Peoples

{/Block}

I replaced the drawer and looked at the design of the table. The legs were tapered, but simple and sturdy. The inlaid top was worn from use, but still intact and the checkerboard pattern was clearly defined. I noted how heavy the table was as I moved it back to its place. 

The two chairs had cane bottoms, and the brass plate on the back of each chair proclaimed that they were gifts from his father when Mackey was seventeen. 

I replaced the dust mop in the pantry, and went downstairs in search of something to beat the dust out of the throw rugs. The basement was musty, and so densely packed with discarded paraphernalia that I had trouble finding a path to walk around. I was thinking of going back upstairs for my flashlight when I spotted the ideal tool, an old tennis racket.  

I had the throw rugs draped over the banister of the gazebo, and was working up a sweat beating the dust out of them, when I heard the back door open. Ms. Kindle was carrying more throw rugs outside. She returned twice, looking my way before placing the rugs next to the back door, and retreating inside the house. Did she want me to beat the dust out of the upstairs rugs? If so, she had a strange way of telling me.

Ms. Meriwether was the first to arrive. She was dressed casually, and her hair was secured behind her head by a yellow ribbon. Even carrying twenty extra pounds, she was all woman. 

"Don't you ever stop, Mr. Driver?" she asked, looking concerned when she saw the droplets of sweat mixing with the dust as they rolled down my face.

"Do you know anything about oriental rugs, Ms. Meriwether?"

She turned up her nose. "They need a good vacuuming."

"The vacuum cleaner is upstairs. It's an old Hoover, but you'll need some bags."

I turned to see Mr. Hubert. He was carrying the same hedge trimmer from the day before. I wondered if he was really going to trim the shrubbery while our meeting was in progress. I thanked him for the information. 

The other members of our group were arriving as I carried the throw rugs to the house. They nodded at me, probably thinking that they didn't want to sit near me while we were meeting. 

Before Ms. Kindle could call the meeting to order, Ms. Whitney handed us the original, and a few copies of our credentials. The paper stated that we were authorized to act on behalf of the Peoples' estate. At the bottom of the page was a judge's seal, and signature. 

Ms. Dickens raised a question, wanting to know why only Ms. Kindle and I were given credentials authorizing us to conduct the estate's business. Ms. Whitney explained that Ms. Kindle and I represented the two heirs named in the will, and that the other organizations were simply named as recipients of a certain percentage of the proceeds. 

Ms. Whitney then gave us signature cards to sign, saying that she would drop them off at the bank, and that checks signed by us would be honored. "As long as you don't exceed the funds that are in the accounts," she joked. 

Again, Ms. Dickens looked like she had another question on the tip of her tongue, but she settled back on the bench seat without saying more. 

Ms. Kindle was about to call the meeting to order, when Ms. Whitney apologized for another interruption. "Mr. Martin would like to stop by tomorrow to explain the workings of the will in conjunction to the trusts the Peoples' set up. Shall I tell him that you will meet at nine?"

She looked around, and finding no resistance to her suggestion, she continued. "Mr. Driver and Ms. Kindle, did either of you find the key to the Peoples' safety deposit box?"

I shook my head, and saw that Ms. Kindle was doing the same. 

"There should be two keys. I'm confident that you will find at least one of them, and when you do, we'll need two committee members to recover the contents of the box. One of the recovery team must be either Mr. Driver or Ms. Kindle because the bank will have your signature. I would suggest that you bring everything here and at least two people list each item. The Peoples were becoming forgetful, and all their valuable papers may not be in the box," Ms. Whitney said as she got up as if to leave. .

"We'll make that the first order of business. Do I hear a nomination for the two recovery team members?" Ms. Kindle asked. 

"Excuse me, Ms. Kindle," I said. "There are two more items of importance to bring to Ms. Whitney attention before she leaves."

Ms. Kindle looked irritated, but Ms. Whitney stopped in her tracks. 

"Mr. Hubert has been collecting the mail from the box, but he tells me that delivery stopped about the time it was learned that Aunt Elsie had died. We need to have mail delivery resumed."

"You have authority to resume mail delivery, Mr. Driver. That's the purpose of the credentials I gave you," Ms. Whitney said, sounding perplexed by my question.

"I'm hardly presentable to go out in public today," I said, lifting my arms so everyone would see the sweat stains. "I can now write checks, but it will take days for them to reach the companies. I don't think anyone here wants to wait days before I can bathe."

"I can't flush the upstairs toilet," Ms. Kindle spoke up.

Mr. Hubert stepped from behind the shrubbery and offered to bring Ms. Kindle buckets of water from his house that she could use to flush the toilet. She thanked him, but said that she also needed water to bathe, preferably hot water.

Ms. Whitney quickly solved both problems. She told me to write a note to the postmaster requesting the resumption of mail at the bottom of my credential form. "One of the other committee members can deliver it," she said, and to my surprise, Ms. Dickens volunteered to deliver the request.  

"I'll have someone from the bank call you, Mr. Driver. I'm sure the Peoples had a personal banker. She'll need to know the amount due each utility, the account number, and the address to wire the funds. The bank will probably accept a check for the entire amount. Seeing as how you're not presentable to go out in public, we'll need a volunteer to deliver the check," Ms. Whitney said, sounding amused that I was not presentable.

Ms. Meriwether volunteered to wait for the check, and to deliver it to the bank. 

"A follow-up call to each utility company may speed up their service," Ms. Whitney suggested, as she made her departure.

Out of respect for the others' sense of smell, I sat at the far end of the gazebo as Ms. Kindle stated the first order of business for the second time. 

I was writing the note to the postmaster, and pretended that I did not hear the nominations for the two members of the safety deposit box recovery team. Mr. McMahan said that he would be honored to accompany Ms. Kindle to the bank. Ms. Meriwether nominated herself to accompany me to the bank. 

A vote followed, and Ms. Kindle and Mr. McMahan were elected to the job of collecting the contents from the safety deposit box. Mr. McMahan looked pleased when Ms. Kindle assured him that she would let him know as soon as we found one or both of the safety deposit box keys.

Ms. Kindle wanted to discuss the disposal of the real estate and the Peoples' personal possessions. I was for the speedy disposal of all property, but I didn't like what I was hearing. Ms. Dickens wanted to put the real estate on the market without regard for doing minimal repairs that would make the old structure livable. 

I informed the group that the basement needed to be cleared out before we invited a realtor in to list the property. Mr. Hubert spoke up to say that the barn was also packed with keepsakes that Mackey had collected over the years. Ms. Kindle offered to take everyone on a tour of the house so they could see, first hand, the condition of the structure, and its furnishing. The others concurred, but I spoke up before the meeting could be adjourned.

"We're going to need vacuum cleaner bags, and cleaning supplies. I'd like authority to spend up to two hundred dollars for such things."

"Two hundred dollars is ridiculous!" Ms. Dickens exclaimed. "I say that you can make do with fifty dollars."

"All in favor of authorizing the expenditure of fifty dollars for cleaning supplies?" Ms. Kindle asked, raising her own hand.

The motion carried, fifty-three to zero. I didn't vote.

Everyone headed to the house, and the tour. Mr. Hubert caught up with me. "Mr. Driver, you're bound to have difficulty bringing water to the surface from that well. The pump has been shut down for three months; the gaskets are probably dried out, and the belts are worn. Once the electricity is turned on, I'll give you a hand, but you may need to call a well repair man."

The group was already in the house. "Thank you, Mr. Hubert. I hope we can make it work because you just witnessed the aversion this group has to spending money."

"It may be less expensive to connect to town water, but that would take time," he offered.

"Town water is available?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Mackey wasn't stubborn, but he was cantankerous. He liked the challenge of making that old pump work. I kept telling him that he should connect to the water line in the street, but he didn't take my advice well." Mr. Hubert was chuckling to himself. 

I shook my head. Mr. Hubert's intrusions into our private meetings had gotten on my nerves, but I was glad that I hadn't told him how I felt. He was well intentioned, and without his advice, I would be lost. 

As I entered the house, I heard the group emerge from the basement. Ms. Kindle was holding my flashlight, and they were all mumbling about not being able to move through the clutter. 

Ms. Dickens said she would deliver my note to the post office. Mr. McMahan gave Ms. Kindle his telephone number, saying that he would go with her to collect the contents of the safety deposit box as soon she ran across one of the keys. I assumed that he didn't think I would be the one to find the key.

Ms. Meriwether saw me starting my laptop. She took a seat next to me, disregarding my body odor. The screen of the laptop became dim, indicating that the battery needed to be recharged. "Damn!" I said as I turned it off. 

Ms. Kindle replaced my flashlight on my sleeping blanket, and disappeared up the stairs. 

I calculated the total amounts due, beginning with the electric bills. Ms. Meriwether asked if she could help, and I gave her the telephone bills to compute. After adding the amount due to the gas company, I totaled the amounts owed, and wrote a check to the bank. 

A Ms. Shaffer called from the bank, saying that Ms. Whitney had told her about our dilemma, and that she was anxious to help with having our utility services resumed. I gave her the addresses of the companies, and told her that Ms. Meriwether would be there momentarily with the check. 

"The downstairs is much cleaner than the upstairs," Ms. Meriwether whispered to me before she left. I grinned at her, and she asked if she could pick up lunch for me. I thanked her for the offer, but told her that I would manage. 

Mr. Hubert arrived with two buckets of water. I directed him up the stairs, and soon heard Ms. Kindle thanking him. A few minutes later, I heard the toilet flush, and Mr. Hubert came downstairs with an empty bucket. 

Tuesday, August 27, 2007

Ms. Kindle began the meeting of the distribution committee by announcing that the utilities were back in service, including hot water. 

She may not have known that I'd spent the afternoon on the telephone, cajoling, even begging the utility companies to resume our service. 

She credited Mr. Hubert for persevering through unpleasant working conditions (I took that to mean that she was referring to the odor emitting from my body) while coaxing the pump to bring water to the surface. 

"The telephone began to ring at three-thirty, but the first call was for Mr. Driver," Ms. Kindle said. She had no way of knowing that my mother was inquiring why they hadn't heard from me. I told her that I was extremely busy, and that I would email a progress report later that night. 

Ms. Kindle also failed to say that she'd come downstairs to thank Mr. Hubert. I thanked him too, and Ms. Kindle did a double-take when she overheard me tell 'Charlie' that I'd like to take a look in the barn the next morning, and 'Charlie' say, "I'm an early riser, Brian."

Admittedly, Charlie had been chiefly responsible for making the pump work, but I would have thought that Ms. Kindle would have acknowledged my assisting him for the last five and a half hours. 

She didn't mention that I'd offered her one of the two remaining slices of pizza, or that she'd spread out my sleeping blanket while the pizza was heating in the oven. Nor did she say that she'd thanked me, after consuming the pizza and one of my beers.  

"Mr. Driver took the first shower, and I see that he's changed his clothes," Ms. Kindle said, to which Ms. Meriwether began to applaud, and some of the others joined in. 

I was a little disappointed that she didn't say anything about me getting up early, and driving to a convenience store to pick up two cups of coffee and four muffins. I'd found the coffee and one of the muffins missing when I returned from inspecting the contents of the barn. 

The meeting was temporarily interrupted by Mr. Martin's arrival. He briefly explained that the Peoples had decided how they wanted their estate divided, and had set up lifetime trusts to carry out their wishes. 

"The fact that Elsie outlived Mackey has no bearing on the division of funds derived from their possessions. It is your job to follow their wishes as speedily and efficiently as possible. From what Ms. Whitney tells me, you're doing a fine job."

With that, Mr. Martin left and Ms. Kindle resumed the meeting. "Yesterday, we discussed the best way of disposing of the contents of the house. Do I hear a suggestion?" she asked, looking at our eager faces.

"I think we should have a tag sale."

It was Ms. Dickens. She must have seen me shaking my head. "Why are you shaking your head, Mr. Driver?"  

"Is a tag sale the same as a garage sale?" I asked.

"I don't care what you call it. We need to get what we can for the junk in that house," Ms. Dickens said, and I heard Mr. McMahan express his approval. 

"Would you like to put your suggestion in the form of a motion, Ms. Dickens?" Ms. Kindle asked. 

"I move that we advertise a tag sale to be held on Saturday," Ms. Dickens said, and Mr. McMahan quickly seconded the motion.

"Those for...," Ms. Kindle's call for a vote was interrupted by Ms. Meriwether. 

"I think we should listen to Mr. Driver's suggestion before we vote."

Ms. Dickens objected to my making a suggestion. "I was sent here to expeditiously settle the estate, and fight for every dime the organization that I represent has coming to it. His plan will take months, and be far more costly than mine."

"How do you know that until you've heard Mr. Driver's plan?" Ms. Meriwether asked.

"Mr. Driver, would you care to tell us your reasons for objecting to the tag sale?" Ms. Kindle asked.

"I'm as anxious to wrap this up as any of you, but I also feel obliged, as you do, Ms. Dickens, to fight for every dime due the people I represent. It's true that my plan will take more time, but the end result will be worth the investment we make in both time and expense. 

"My plan will involve a four prong approach. First, we rent a dumpster and discard the mattresses, clothes, and some of the items I've seen in the basement and the barn. Second, we hold a silent auction. Some of the furnishings are rare, and will bring top dollar if we invite antique dealers to bid. Third, we advertise some of the items on the internet. Fourth, we'll hold a tag sale to dispose of the items you refer to as junk. Meanwhile, we'll make some repairs to the house to make it more appealing to those shopping for a bargain."

Ms. Dickens was mumbling under her breath, and I saw Mr. McMahan nodding his head in agreement. Knowing that if a vote were taken at that point, I would lose, fifty to forty-seven, I played my last card.

"Before we vote, please accompany me to the barn."

Ms. Meriwether was the first to get up. She joined Charlie, who led the way to the barn. When Mr. McMahan saw that Ms. Kindle was headed toward the barn, he followed her. I held back to walk with Ms. Dickens.

"Uncle Mackey was a collector. I'm sure that you'll agree that his collections will fetch top dollar on the internet. Believe me; it will be worth the wait."

Ms. Dickens was non-committal. She walked slowly, as if to put off seeing the items that I was excited about as long as possible.

"Charlie, if you will help me pull the canopy back, we'll give everyone a glimpse of this fine old automobile," I said, taking one side of the drop-cloth Uncle Mackey had used to cover his prized possession."

The chrome-plated bumper and radiator drew breath-taking oohs and aahs from the distribution committee. 

"It's a nineteen-thirty-nine Oldsmobile. I researched it last night, and found that we'll have collectors coming from far and wide just to say that they've seen it."

"It doesn't have any tires," Ms. Dickens observed.

"It's on blocks. That won't deter collectors' interest," I said, looking to Charlie, who nodded his agreement.

We covered the Oldsmobile, and lifted the other drop-cloth. "This is a nineteen-fifty Studebaker, not nearly as rare as the Olds, but it enjoys a large following of collectors," I said, motioning to Charlie to cover the car. He'd remained silent, letting me do the talking.

"Uncle Mackey was also a collector of rare automobile parts," I said, motioning to the walls of the barn where fenders, steering wheels, and doors from cars of the past hung. "These items will need to be cataloged, but Charlie tells me that they are in demand."

Ms. Dickens voiced her opinion. "That's going to take forever." 

"I move that we adopt Mr. Driver's four prong approach to advertising and disposing of all the property, including the real estate," Ms. Meriwether said. 

"May I see a show of hands for those in favor of Mr. Driver's plan?" Ms. Kindle asked.

I saw Ms. Meriwether's hand shoot up, and I joined her.  

"Opposed?" 

"There was no second to the motion," Ms. Dickens said, quite correctly, I thought at the time.




Distribution Ch. 02



"I was seconding the motion when I raised my hand to vote in the affirmative," Ms. Kindle said. "Opposed?"

I hadn't realized that she was voting for my proposal, and by the shocked look on Mr. McMahan's face, he hadn't either. He and Ms. Dickens raised their hands in opposition to the motion.

"The motion caries, eighty-seven to six. Who would like to volunteer to work with Mr. Driver on the cataloging and marketing of the contents of the automobile related items?" Ms. Kindle asked.

"I'll work with Mr. Driver," Ms. Meriwether was quick to say.

Ms. Dickens was walking away, toward the gazebo, having apparently lost interest in the proceedings.

"Charlie's going to help with the cataloging, but we'll welcome your help also," I said to Ms. Meriwether, and watched her smile at me. 

"Who would like to volunteer to help Mr. Driver with the cataloging and marketing of the contents of the house?" Ms. Kindle asked, speaking in a loud voice. Ms. Dickens did not turn, or give any indication that she'd heard the call for a volunteer.

Again, Ms Meriwether said that she would be happy to work with me, but Ms. Kindle said that others should become involved in the interest of time. I watched Mr. McMahan make a move to raise his hand, but Ms. Kindle was already saying that she would assist me. 

Things were looking up. Ms. Kindle had thanked me for the slice of pizza and beer the night before, and now she was volunteering to help catalog and market the contents of the house. 

"Great, let's get started," I said. "Ms. Meriwether, I'll get my laptop, and show you how to enter each item as Charlie describes what it is."

She nodded, smiling at me. I headed for the house. Ms. Kindle fell in step with me, with Mr. McMahan at her side. 

"What can I do to get started inside?" she asked.

"Look up antique dealers in the telephone book. Call them, and ask if they will be interested in attending a silent auction. Tell them that there are some fine old items. Tonight, we'll catalog everything, and tomorrow, you can send out a mailing to the dealers that express interest. We'll need to get approval for the postage, but we can do that at the meeting tomorrow morning."

"I would say that the vote for your proposal assumed that there would be expenses associated with the plan," Ms. Kindle said. 

"What about the dumpster?"

"Absolutely, the vote included ordering the dumpster."

"What can I do, Mr. Driver?" Mr. McMahan asked.  

"Tomorrow, dress for some manual labor. You can help me carry the mattresses and clothes to the dumpster."

I couldn't tell if he was satisfied with the assignment, but he didn't lodge a complaint.

"How about picking up some vacuum cleaner bags, Mr. McMahan?"

"You said you need some cleaning supplies, too," he said, obviously agreeable to the task.

"Pick up a bucket and some sponges," I said, handing him a twenty dollar bill. 

Ms. Kindle said that she would get the vacuum cleaner for him to determine what kind of bags to buy. She headed upstairs, but stopped and stared Mr. McMahan down when he started to follow her. 

I was looking at the yellow pages when she came back, carrying the vacuum. 

"I'll order the dumpster. You need to go back to the barn. Which company should I call?" she asked.

I pointed to one of the companies that advertised short-term dumpster rental, and circled the size container that would accommodate the items we needed to dispose of. As I left the house, Ms. Kindle was dialing the number, and Mr. McMahan was copying the model of the vacuum. 

As I was setting up the format I wanted her to use to catalog the automobile parts, Ms. Meriwether whispered in my ear. "Please call me Nadine. I'll call you Brian, okay?"

"Okay, Nadine. Hey, Charlie, Ms. Meriwether wants us to call her Nadine," I said, and watched her turn a bright shade of red in embarrassment. 

We worked until I got hungry, recording the description of each item Charlie and I found on the wall. The description was short for many of the items because we didn't know what automobile they were for. 'MIN' became shorthand for more information needed. I didn't know what time it was, but I suspected everyone else was hungry, too. 

I found Mr. McMahan operating the vacuum cleaner. He was only too happy to take a break and go after sandwiches for the crew. I watched him scamper up the stairs before I went back to the barn. It wasn't long before he took our orders and left. 

We ate our sandwiches in the gazebo. Everyone talked about the progress they were making. Charlie said that we'd cataloged half the parts that were hanging on the walls, but we hadn't been able to climb the stairs to the attic because they were blocked with wooden boxes that needed to be moved out of the way. 

Mr. McMahan said that he had finished vacuuming the carpets on the first floor, and was ready to start with upstairs carpets. 

Ms. Kindle spoke to me. "The dumpster will be delivered first thing in the morning. I've called all the antique dealers that advertise in the phone book. All but one is interested in bidding on our furnishings. I've made labels for the mailing list. If there's nothing else you want me to do, I'll spend the afternoon looking for the safety deposit key." I was dumbfounded. She was asking if I had anything else for her to do. "You made labels for the mailing list?"

"Uncle Mackey's computer is ancient, but it works," she said.

"Good luck with finding the safety deposit box key," I said, smiling, and watching her shyly return it.

"Brian, you have the sweetest children. The little boy looks exactly like you. How old are they?" Nadine Meriwether asked.

"Amanda will be ten in March. Phillip will be seven."

"Your wife is lovely, too," she said, but I didn't respond. 

"Do you have children, Nadine?" 

"No, we don't," she said, before becoming quiet. 

I was in a good mood as we returned to work. With the exception of Ms. Dickens, I had the whole crew looking to me for direction. In only two days, I'd gotten them to believe in my methods. I saw no need to tell them that I'd disposed of old furniture from two houses, or that I was in the antique business. 

The antique automobiles and Uncle Mackey's collection of parts were new to me, but everything else was routine. 

We finished cataloging all the parts that were hanging from the walls when Nadine said she needed to leave. Charlie and I wished her a good night.

"You have a good night, too," she said, winking at me. 

Charlie and I moved the boxes away from the stairs. I couldn't resist the urge to climb to the loft. I whistled, and yelled down to him that there were tables filled with every kind of starter, water pump, distributor, and carburetor known to man. "There's some other stuff that I can't identify," I said, looking down to see him pry one of the boxes open.

It was Charlie's turn to whistle. By the time I got downstairs, he had helmets, bayonets, belts, and medals out of the box. 

"What do you have?" I asked.

"I believe it's all from World War One, but I'm not sure," he said, shaking his head in amazement. 

I looked around at the structure. It wasn't secure at all. "How long have these boxes been here?" I asked.

Charlie shook his head. "Not long. They weren't here last time I was in the barn with Mackey. That was about a year ago."

"We've got to move these boxes into the house as soon as possible," I said, and he agreed with me. We paid special attention to how the doors closed when we locked the barn. Ms. Dickens would never forgive us if anything happened to those war memorabilia. 

"No luck," Ms. Kindle said the moment she saw me enter the back door. "But...," she said, pointing to a roll of bills on the table. The roll was about an inch in diameter, and there was a rubber band around it. 

I looked around the room. "He's gone," she said, assuring me that Mr. McMahan was not within earshot.

"Where did you find it?"

"It was inside a beer stein on Uncle Mackey's desk."

The roll of money reminded me of the nineteen envelopes that Amanda had discovered in the roll top desk at Mr. Bennett's house. 

"Do you feel like Chinese?" she asked, changing the subject. "I found this ad in the telephone book."

I looked at the ad, saw that she'd placed a checkmark beside three of the dishes on the menu, and reached for my cell phone. While I was out picking up the Chinese food, I bought a bottle of Chardonnay. When I got back, the roll of money was still sitting on the table. We didn't talk more about it, and I doubted if she had bothered to count it.

While we were eating, we talked about how we would go about cataloging the furniture. She would log the items into my laptop while I went from room to room calling out descriptions. She offered me a second glass of wine, but when I rejected it, she corked the bottle. When we had our fill, she put the leftovers in the refrigerator, and took our plates and wine glasses to the sink. 

We started with the throw rugs. I wasn't sure if the correct term was oriental rugs so I simply called them scatter rugs. I had to estimate the dimensions. 

"Your family may want this game table. It was a gift from Uncle Mackey's mother," I said, but didn't get any response that showed she was interested in keeping the table in her family.

We breezed through the other pieces, and when I got to the dining room, I was able to describe the pieces in detail. The furniture in the small bedroom was non-descript, but we listed each piece. I'd learned long ago, that some antique dealers lusted for pieces they considered unique while other dealers considered it junk.

I was uneasy climbing the stairs because I had not been permitted up there before. There were two rooms filled with bedroom furniture. I made up exotic descriptions as Ms. Kindle punched them into my laptop. 

The third bedroom had been Mackey's room. In addition to the computer, printer, etc., there were two file cabinets, a desk, and bookshelves. The top of the desk was so littered with magazines and papers that I wondered how Ms. Kindle had found the beer stein. The bookshelves were similarly overflowing with books and magazines. 

"Let's not list anything in this room," I suggested, and watched Ms. Kindle shrug. The magazines, I thought, might be useful in researching the auto parts and the world war one collectibles we'd found in the barn. The contents of the file cabinets could also prove useful. 

I would have liked to investigate the files, but Ms. Kindle was anxious to print the mailing to the antique dealers. She transferred the file from my laptop to Mackey's desktop, and I went downstairs to catch up on my correspondence. 

I wrote e-mail messages to my parents, my sister, and to Amanda, knowing that she would share it with Phillip. The messages I wrote that night were a lot more light-hearted than they would have been the night before. I felt like I had things under control, a big improvement from twenty-four hours ago. 

Checking the time, I didn't think it was too late to talk to Marian. 

"When are you coming home?" she asked, sounding tired, like I'd disturbed her.

"I'm making progress, but it may be longer that I first thought."

"How much longer?" she persisted.

Didn't she know she was asking a question that was impossible to answer? I glanced around the room, spotted the roll of money still lying on the table, and then at my sleeping blanket. When had Ms. Kindle spread it out and placed the photographs of my family within reach of the blanket?

"I can't say for sure, Marian. It's more complicated that I thought it would be."

"You sound like you're having a good time."

"I suppose I am. This is the type of thing I'm good at. The people are complex, but they're coming around."

"Don't have too much fun," she warned me before we said goodnight.

I turned off the computer, and was removing my clothes when I heard the bathwater running upstairs. Was Ms. Kindle coming around? 



Distribution Ch. 03



Wednesday, August 29, 2007.

The clanging sound of the dumpster being lowered to the ground woke me. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Ms. Kindle sitting at the kitchen table. She had my laptop open, and was reading something. I kept my eyes on her while I put on my pants. She didn't look up as I raced past her on my way to the bathroom.

"Good morning, what does 'MIN' mean?" she asked when I returned to the kitchen. Her question told me that she was reading the automobile parts file we'd created the day before. 

"Good morning, it means 'more information needed.'"

A slight grin crossed her lips before she said, "I saw some auto magazines in Uncle Mackey's room. They may help you describe the parts properly."

"I'll check them out," I said, slipping into my shoes and shirt. She must have assumed that I was going out to pick up coffee.

"Would you mind getting cereal and milk?"

"Not at all. Anything else?"

"Instant coffee. It's less expensive than coffee by the cup, and we can have it any time of the day."

She saw me looking at the side of the table where the roll of money had been left the evening before. "I put it in the cookie jar," she said, pointing to the oddly-shaped crockery piece on the countertop.

Another slight grin crossed her lips as I nodded. I was halfway to the door when I heard her ask, "Brian?"

I turned. "Do you need any money for the groceries?" A single line in her brow reminded me of Peggy for a second. I told her that I had money, and drove to the store where I bought two very different types of breakfast cereal, milk, and a jar of instant coffee. 

She was on the phone when I returned to the house. I tried not to listen to her side of the conversation, but pouring milk on top of breakfast cereal didn't hold my attention. I couldn't help but hear her as I put a kettle of water on the burner. 

"I'll be home this weekend. We'll discuss it then...I didn't say that you couldn't have it...Please, Honey, let me think about it...A puppy is not like a goldfish...It's a big responsibility...Let me speak with your brother...Hi, Honey, do you miss me? I miss you, too...This weekend; we'll have dinner together on Friday night...Let me speak to your grandmother...Hi, Mom, where did Mona get the idea that she must have a puppy? Friday, I'll get a taxi from the bus station...What's that? Things are improving, we're finally making some headway...Kiss the kids for me, love you, bye."

Ms. Kindle set the phone down, and looked at me. I held the two boxes of cereal up. She chose the Raisin Bran, which I delivered to her along with a bowl, spoon and the milk. She smiled at me before pouring cereal from the box. It was a weak, thank you smile, not a friendly THANK YOU smile. 

She didn't mention the telephone conversation, not that I expected her to explain that she'd obviously been talking to her children, and then her mother. 

I stood at the counter, and she sat at the table. When the water boiled, I measured the right amount of coffee into a cup, and poured the water over it. I offered to do the same for her, but she said she preferred to pour her own hot water over the grains of instant coffee.

We finished our cereal in silence, and Ms. Kindle said she would wash the dishes. 

I went to the small bedroom on the first floor and began pulling the clothes out of the closet. Ms. Kindle laughed when she saw me trying to decide which clothes to set aside for Goodwill and which ones to toss in the dumpster. I let her take over, and carried the mattress outside. When I returned, she had the clothes in two stacks. She pointed to the stack that was going to be discarded. I couldn't tell the difference, but I didn't argue with her. 

We were upstairs in one of the bedrooms when Mr. McMahan and Nadine Meriwether arrived early, dressed for work. He helped me carry the mattresses to the dumpster, and Nadine followed us with an armload of clothes that were to be discarded. 

Charlie came in the house, saying that he would be in the barn, cataloging the automobile parts we'd found in the attic. I asked Nadine to go with him to record the descriptions on my laptop.

"It's a good thing I wore pants today, isn't it?" she asked. I pictured her climbing to the loft and winked at her. 

Ms. Kindle said that we needed trash bags to pack the clothes that were going to the Goodwill in. I suggested that we start a list of supplies we needed, and when Ms. Dickens and Ms. Whitney arrived, we had a half dozen items written down. 

Ms. Dickens said that had she known this was a workday, she would have dressed appropriately. I told her that she was dressed fine for shopping, and gave her the list. She seemed happy to have a job that she could do. . 

Ms. Kindle explained our plan to hold a silent auction to Ms. Whitney. "I'd like Mr. Martin to look over the mailing we're making. I'm particularly interested in him approving the disclaimer I placed at the bottom of the page," Ms Kindle said. 

Ms. Whitney, seeing that we had no plans to hold a meeting, said she would have Mr. Martin check the mailing and call with any changes he suggested.

Ms. Dickens returned with the supplies, saying that she knew now that fifty dollars was not going to be enough for the supplies we would need. It was as near to an apology from her as I expected. 

Ms. Kindle took me aside. "Brian, will you ask Ms. Dickens to deliver the clothes to Goodwill?"

It occurred to me that Ms. Kindle was chummy with me when others were around, but talked very little when we were alone. I was glad that I hadn't commented on her telephone conversation with her family. 

"Ms. Dickens, do you think these trash bags will fit in your car, or should I use my truck to deliver them to Goodwill?"

She calculated the space that the bags would take, and shook her head. That settled, Mr. McMahan helped me carry the trash bags out to my truck.

"Do you know the way to Goodwill?" Ms. Dickens asked.

"I was just going to ask if you would point the way," I said, sneaking a peek at Ms. Kindle. She grinned, smugly.

Mr. McMahan wanted to know what he should do while I was gone. I ask him to start clearing the stuff out of the basement. "I'll help you sort what goes in the dumpster and what we can sell when I get back," I said.

Ms. Dickens gave me the directions to Goodwill. "You've certainly taken over in the past two days. Do you mind if I call you Brian?"

"Not at all," I said, expecting her to tell me her first name. She didn't volunteer it and I didn't ask.

"I'll dress more appropriately tomorrow," she said for the second time, probably to fill in the awkward silence. 

"It's not necessary. We'll probably have a short meeting tomorrow to make the work assignments for the silent bid. I hope you can work Saturday?" I asked, having learned that Ms. Kindle was going home for the weekend.

"I'll be here. What would you like for me to do?"

"That's what we'll talk about tomorrow, but I assure you that it will be an important job."

She seemed pleased to hear that. She directed me to turn, and to turn again. The Goodwill people were happy to receive the donation. Admittedly, the clothes were dated, but even I could tell that Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie had not skimped on their wardrobes. The clothes had name brand labels, and were of excellent quality.

On the way back, I told Ms. Dickens that we would like for her to deliver the mailing to the post office as soon as we received the lawyer's approval. "It's important that the bidders receive it tomorrow or Friday so they'll be excited about the bidding process."

"I'll be glad to do anything to help," she said.

"In that case, Ms. Dickens, I hope you won't mind taking the lunch orders, and going after them." Ms. Dickens smiled. "Please call me Nancy."

While Ms. Dickens was gone to pick up the lunches, I called Ms. Shaffer at the bank to thank her for her help with the utility companies to have our services resumed. She very politely, but with no trace of emotion in her voice, told me that it was just part of her job. 

"Brian," Ms. Kindle whispered. I looked around, making sure that we were the only ones in the house. "I found it," she said, still whispering. 

I followed her into the small bedroom, and saw that she'd been busy pulling everything out of drawers. On the bed were stacks of soft goods, everything from women's panties and bras, to bedding, to towels. 

She opened the top drawer of the dressing table, and handed me a small envelope. The safety deposit box key was inside. 

"That's great. You and Mr. McMahan can go to the bank and retrieve the contents from the box, but please tell me why you were whispering?"

"Because," she said, holding up a roll of bills. "I also found this."

We looked at each other for a few seconds, and I could see her reason for whispering. None of the others were to know about her find. I wondered why she'd chosen to tell me about it. 

"Those can go in the dumpster," she said, pointing to the bed as she left the room, presumably to deposit the roll of bills in the cookie jar.

I made two trips to the dumpster, and then went to the back of the house where Mr. McMahan had most of the items from the basement spread out from one end of the house to the other. An attempt had been made to separate the junk from the collectibles. 

"This reminds me of the loft in a hardware store that I cleared out. We disposed of half of the crap, and sold the rest," I said, talking to myself, having forgotten that Mr. McMahan was within earshot. 

"Which half would you like to dispose of, Mr. Driver?"

His question surprised me. I laughed. "Who knows what will interest collectors? One man's trash is another man's treasure."

Mr. McMahan looked confused. "What should I take to the dumpster?" he asked. 

"None of it, we'll hold a yard sale next week, and let the scavengers pick over everything," I said, not wanting to admit that I was afraid to discard anything that someone else might be willing to pay for.

Mr. McMahan brightened. "I found some neat collections that the old man had."

He led the way to the basement. I was astonished at how spacious it looked now that we could walk around. Uncle Mackey's workbench was off to one side, and it appeared that he had a nice collection of power tools. 

Mr. McMahan showed me a collection of antique scales. They were hanging on a rod, and looked to have been fabricated one at a time. There was also a dozen whirl-a-gigs. Like the scales, no two were alike. There was a man rowing his boat, a woman washing clothes, two men sawing a log, and an antique car with a man opening and closing the hood. That's the one I took to show Charlie.

"Mackey worked on those wind machines for two winters in a row. As far as I know, he never put a single one of them into use."

"Uncle Mackey made the whirl-a-gigs?" I asked. 

"He was a perfectionist. You'll not find a flaw in any of them," Charlie said.

Nadine handed me the laptop, saying they were finished cataloging the auto parts in the loft. "You missed seeing me climb up to the loft and back down," she whispered, and I told her it had been my loss.

Ms. Kindle directed us to the dining room, where she had placed a cloth on the table. She sat at the head of the table, with Mr. McMahan to her left and me at the other end, Charlie and Nadine sat on one side, and Nancy Dickens sat next to Mr. McMahan. 

She first announced that she'd found the key to the safety deposit box, and that she and Mr. McMahan would go to the bank that day to recover the contents of the box. Mr. McMahan attempted to conceal his delight at the news that Ms. Kindle would be riding in his car, but I believe everyone saw the excitement in his eyes. 

Ms. Kindle took a bite out of her sandwich, and then looked around the table. "I'll be away this weekend so I would like..."

"You're going to be away?" Nancy Dickens asked, interrupting Ms. Kindle in mid sentence. "You're not going to be here for the silent auction?"

"Yes, it's imperative that I go home for a few days. As I was saying, I'd like Mr. Driver to..."

"It's imperative that everyone be here on Saturday. I'm going to be here, Mr. Driver is going to be here, Mr. McMahan is going to be here, Ms. Meriwether is going to be here. Are you going to be here, Mr. Hubert?" Nancy Dickens asked, so animated that I expected her to pound on the table at any second.

Charlie answered in the affirmative, saying that he would report for duty.

Ms. Kindle was unnerved. Calmly, she explained that she had responsibilities, namely a job and children. I sympathized with her. What if Amanda and Phillip suddenly decided they wanted a puppy?

Nancy retorted that she also had a job, but couldn't match Ms. Kindle's claim that she had other responsibilities, such as children. 

Unperturbed, Ms. Kindle continued. "I would like Mr. Driver to address the group regarding the silent auction. We'll soon mail the forms to eleven antique dealers that expressed interest in bidding, and I'm hoping they will all show up on Saturday morning."

I hadn't planned on making the assignments and telling everyone what I expected until the next morning, but I'd been thinking about how things should work. 

"First, Ms. Kindle has been working from daylight until late in the night. It is largely due to her efforts that we are well placed to make Saturday a success. 

"Nadine, you will be the greeter. You will be stationed outside. It will be your job to register the antique dealers, and to keep them busy until it's their turn to come inside."

"How many dealers did you say there are?" she asked, sending a twitter among the group. 

"You won't be required to sing and dance for them. Mr. McMahan has uncovered some very interesting collectibles in the basement. We'll place some of them on a table. This should keep the dealers busy while they're waiting their turn to come inside the house. 

"Nancy, you will be in charge of the downstairs. You'll tell Nadine when she can send the next dealer inside. We don't want more than three dealers on the first floor at any one time, preferably one per room so they will have privacy to record their bids. Charlie will be stationed at the foot of the stairs. When he lets someone go upstairs, you will alert Nadine to send another dealer inside. 

"Mr. McMahan will monitor the two upstairs bedrooms. Uncle Mackey's room is off limits. Dealers love to open drawers and that's okay because we've removed everything..." 

I stopped talking, and followed Ms. Kindle's eyes to the dining room hutch. In addition to two drawers, which we had not opened, there were two doors above, with a shelf in between them, and three doors below. I was sure that she was thinking the same as I was; we would find out what was inside the hutch after everyone else left for the day. "If there are no objections, I'd like to post photos of the antique automobiles for the dealers to see. We may as well take advantage of word-of-mouth advertising."

There were no objections to my idea. 

"What are you going to do?" Nadine Meriwether asked.

"I'll be around to answer questions. I'll also collect the bids as the dealers leave," I said, looking around to see if everyone agreed. Apparently, they did. 

"We'll have a yard sale next weekend. In the meantime..."

"Are you going to be here next weekend?" Nancy directed her question to Ms. Kindle, who said she planned on being here.

"In the meantime, we'll advertise the antique cars, auto parts, and some other collections that Charlie and I discovered on e-Bay."

"When will we put the house on the market?" Nancy asked.

"Hmmm...the house needs work before we can consider putting it on the market," I said, without being specific. She seemed to accept my answer, but I knew it would not be long before she would press me for a specific date.

I was surprised that no one asked about the other collections that Charlie and I had discovered. 

"There is one more topic of business," I said, looking around the table. "Does anyone object to my bidding on one of the pieces of furniture?"

There was silence in the room. I could see that my fellow committee members didn't want to discuss my question in front of me. I got up, and took my sandwich outside. I was munching on it and surveying the junk from the basement when Ms. Kindle called me inside.

As I would have suspected, Nancy Dickens had the only question. "You said you will collect the bids. When will you place your bid?"

"I'll give you my sealed bid on Saturday morning before the dealers arrive."

My answer suited everyone, and I was told that my bid would be accepted. 

Ms. Whitney called with one minor change to the mailing. Mr. Nelson suggested that we stipulate that the winning bidder would pick up his purchases no later than Tuesday, the fourth of September. 

Ms. Kindle made the change, and left the job of printing the copies and stuffing the envelopes to Nancy. She then changed clothes, and left for the bank with Mr. McMahan. 

Nadine asked if we could wait until the next day to enumerate the contents of the safety deposit box, and I told her it would be okay.

Nancy said she would drop the mailing at the post office, and then report for work at her job. 

Charlie said that he would lock the barn before he left. I suddenly found myself alone in the house. 

When I heard the mail truck stop in front of the house, I ran out to get the mail, and immediately wished I hadn't been so anxious to look at it. The envelope that caught my attention was from the mortuary. Aunt Elsie's funeral expenses were several times what we had remaining in the checking account that I'd been posting to. The mortuary wanted their money in thirty days. This was another reason that made finding the second checkbook imperative.

There was also a letter addressed to Paige Kindle. It was from Russell Kindle, and his return address was Boston. I wondered if Russell was her husband. I left the letter on the kitchen table, and went outside to inspect the items from the basement more thoroughly. I decided that about half of it was junk, and was carrying it to the dumpster when Ms. Kindle and Mr. McMahan returned. She had a bulging folder in her arms. 

Mr. McMahan helped me carry the rest of the junk to the dumpster. I thanked him, and told him everyone else had left for the day. From the way he hesitated, I could see that he envied my being alone with Ms. Kindle. He hadn't seen how frigid she was toward me when we were alone. Perhaps it was my imagination. She was warming, wasn't she?

I found her at the kitchen table. She was unfolding large pieces of paper. "It's mainly stock certificates," she said, handing me the stack of certificates that she had unfolded. 

The certificates were for varying amounts of stock, ranging from one hundred shares to five thousand shares. The companies were just as varied; they included everything from blue chips to start-ups.

I was anxious to look up the current prices of the stock, but Nadine had asked me to wait until the next day for us to list the contents of the safety deposit box. I didn't want to disappoint her. 

Other documents in the box included the trusts, the wills, the deed for the real estate, and two life insurance policies. Ms. Kindle placed everything back into the folder, and followed me into the dining room. 

We opened the doors on the hutch, and found every type of crystal imaginable, glass compotes and serving dishes, figurines, and china. There wasn't an inch to spare. Even the dust and cobwebs looked cramped.

Ms. Kindle wanted to wash the crystal in the sink, but she let me load the china into the dishwasher. While I was waiting for the dishwasher cycle to finish, I opened the two drawers at the center of the hutch. On one side was a wooden box that contained silverware. In the other drawer were placemats, napkins, and table cloths. 




Distribution Ch. 03



Just for the heck of it, I pulled the drawer out to check the construction. Taped to the back of the drawer was a stack of twenty dollar bills. I was not surprised to find a duplicate stack of bills taped to the back of the other drawer. Ms. Kindle didn't seem surprised when she watched me drop the money in the cookie jar. 

It took all afternoon to wash everything and clean the inside of the hutch. It was a heavy piece of furniture, and I had trouble pulling it away from the wall so I could run the dust mop behind it. 

Once we had everything washed and dried, we needed to decide where to store the crystal, china and silverware. We decided to place it back in the hutch, and write an addendum to those items listed in the mailing. While Ms. Kindle was writing the addendum, I called home.

Mary answered the phone, but we were only able to talk for a minute before Amanda picked up an extension.

"Hi, Dad, when are you coming home?"

"Don't hang up, Mary, I want you to hear this," I said, avoiding Amanda's question. "We're finding money hidden all over the house."

"Like I found in Mr. Bennett's house?" Amanda asked.

"Yes, but not all in one place. These are small amounts of cash, like it made the old people that lived here feel secure."

"Didn't they have a safe?" Amanda asked.

"I haven't found one, but there are two old cars in the barn, and we found a collection of whirl-a-gigs in the basement."

"What's that?"

I recognized Phillip's voice. "Whirl-a-gigs have propellers that make little wooden figures do stuff over and over, like saw a log when the wind spins the propeller."

"Why?" Phillip asked.

"That's a reasonable question. I'll send you pictures of the collection."

"When are you coming home?" my son asked, as if whirl-a-gigs were of no interest to him.

"I don't know, Buddy. We have a lot to do here. Mary, do you remember the Studebaker? We have one in the barn that was new in nineteen-fifty."

Mary didn't understand that I was trying to explain the enormity of the task at hand. She first complained that she wasn't THAT old, and then asked if I was eating healthy food. I made the mistake of telling her that we'd had Chinese food the evening before. Both kids wanted to know who else I was referring to. I tried to explain that another member of the distribution committee was staying in the house, but that she stayed upstairs most of the time.

This opened the floodgates with a barrage of questions. What's her name? Is she pretty? Why does she stay upstairs?

I hated to cut them short, but I heard Ms. Kindle coming downstairs. I promised that I would send them an email that would explain everything that was happening here, and Mary took pity on me, telling the kids it was dinner time.

Ms. Kindle opened the refrigerator and held up a carton of the leftover Chinese food. I turned up my nose, and we agreed that we would go shopping.

"Do you have money?" she asked.

I knew that I still had a few bucks left, but I told her that I was running low on cash, just to see what she would do. She lifted the cover of the cookie jar, and took out one of the stacks of bills that I'd found in the back of the hutch drawer. 

Although we didn't discuss the plan, I somehow understood that the hidden cash that we'd been finding would remain our secret. Her way was much simpler than asking the committee to approve our expenditures.

It had been years since I'd gone grocery shopping with a woman. Mary did our shopping at home, and Peggy had usually shopped during the week when I was at work. Shopping on weekends was out of the question; we were always far too busy with the flea market.

Ms. Kindle was a methodical shopper. She went through the store, picking items from the shelves, like she was planning our menus for the next week as she shopped. I was not consulted about any of her purchases until we reached the meat section. 

"Do you like steak?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, and watched her toss a package of sirloin steaks in the cart, along with a package of chicken.

"I'll make pasta tonight. We'll have steak tomorrow, and I'll bake chicken to leave for you to have over the weekend."

So much for asking which foods I was partial to. She leveled off the cart with produce and bread, and we headed for the checkout registers.

Ms. Kindle served salad, followed by pasta, Italian bread, and wine for dinner. I had seconds, and told her that it was good to eat a home-cooked meal. She rejected my offer to do the dishes.

I read my e-mail, and wrote long messages to my parents and my children describing what we had accomplished, what we had planned for the weekend, and the complexities I foresaw in marketing the antique autos, and the antique house. I didn't predict how much longer it was going to take, or provide estimates as to how much my dad's share of the estate would amount to. 

I answered e-mails from John and Mrs. Nixon, approving their plans for the following week, and congratulating them on the success they were achieving without me. 

I would have liked to talk to Henrietta, but with Ms. Kindle still in the kitchen, I didn't think she would understand our boisterous banter. 

When Ms. Kindle finally had the kitchen in order, she said goodnight.

I wished her a goodnight too, and let my eyes follow her to the stairs. She turned, catching me off guard. 

"Thank you for defending me today."

"It was true. Ms. Dickens had no right to question your taking some time off. You've been putting in long hours."

"I really do have some pressing matters that I need to take care of this weekend."

"I understand," I said, but she had already disappeared up the stairs.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

We'd had our breakfast and I was busy trying to make one of the downstairs windows open and close properly when my cell phone rang. It was Ms. Dickens calling to say she wasn't going to be able to make it that day.

"She's showing me that I'm not the only one who can take time off," Ms. Kindle said.

I didn't disagree with her. "I hope she's here on Saturday."

"What will you do if she takes that day off too?"

"I'll slow the traffic down and have Nadine sing and dance to keep the others entertained," I said, but Ms. Kindle didn't think it was funny.

"Not to worry. Ms. Dickens will be here if she thinks we'll be collecting money," I said, and saw that Ms. Kindle agreed with me.

Charlie dropped in to tell me that he was taking the day off. He took one look at the window I was working on, and said he'd show me some tricks the next day.

"We've got to find a way to pay him," I said to Ms. Kindle when Charlie was gone.

"Name the amount you want to pay him. We have eighty-eight votes between us. I'll vote with you," she said, and I told her I would think about it.

Nadine was the first to arrive. We were entering the information from the stock certificates when Mr. McMahan came in. He went right to Ms. Kindle, and I overheard him ask what time she wanted to leave for the bus depot the following day. She was on her hands and knees, pulling everything out of the lower sections of the kitchen cabinets. 

"I don't know. May I let you know tomorrow?"

"Certainly," he said. "I'll pick you up when you return. I'll give you my telephone number."

"Mr. McMahan, would you mind doing some more work in the basement? The floor needs to be swept, and the windows are filthy" I said, catching him off guard. He glared at me for a second before muttering that it was a good thing he'd dressed for grunt work.

Ms. Kindle mouthed, 'thank you' as we heard Mr. McMahan descend the basement stairs.

I went online to get the current pricing on the stock. The total value was in excess of three hundred thousand dollars. 

"We'll need to watch the pricing over time and determine the best time to sell," I mused. I'd never owned stock, but I knew the prices fluctuated for a number of reasons. 

"My husband is a stockbroker. He will be happy to talk to you about selling the stock," Nadine said. 

I was skeptical about accepting her husband's advice, but I told her that I appreciated the offer. 

Nadine helped Ms. Kindle clean the kitchen cabinets, and I went downstairs to help Mr. McMahan. There was only one broom, so we took turns sweeping while the other one moved things out of the way. At eleven-thirty, I told him that I would wash the windows if he would pick up sandwiches for our lunch. He jumped at the chance to go upstairs and ask the ladies what kind of sandwich they wanted.

I was finished washing the basement windows when Mr. McMahan returned with our sandwiches. We sat in the gazebo and had lunch. It was pleasant there. Here we are, I thought, two single guys having lunch with two married women. 

Ms. Kindle broke the silence. "I would like to take the eight o'clock bus, Mr. McMahan." 

He was eager to respond, saying that he would pick her up at seven-thirty.

"It sounds like it will be just you and me tomorrow," Nadine said, using a very sensual voice, drawing looks from Ms. Kindle and Mr. McMahan. Nadine's grin gave her away.

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy your company, but we're caught up until Saturday," I said, already thinking of being alone in the house from seven-thirty on Friday. I couldn't wait to explore Uncle Mackey's room.

Ms. Kindle excused herself, saying that she hoped to finish the kitchen cabinets that afternoon. Naturally, Mr. McMahan followed her, and that left Nadine and me alone.

"We're having a cookout on Monday. I hope you will come. Fred is looking forward to meeting you, and we always invite the influential townspeople," .Nadine said, before adding, "Did I mention that we're serving lobster?"

How could I turn her down? She said she would bring the directions to her house on Saturday.

I helped Nadine load the canned goods that Ms. Kindle had found in the kitchen into her car for her to deliver to the food pantry. Everything that had been opened went into the dumpster because we didn't know when the seals had been broken. 

I called the dumpster company and they said they would be there the next morning to take it away. 

Except for taking a break to have salad and a steak, I worked on the stubborn windows until quite late. 

"Mr. Driver," I heard Ms. Kindle say. "It's Marian," she said, looking wrought with shock as she handed me my cell phone. 

"What did she say to you?" I asked, ignoring the phone in my hand.

"It was nothing," Ms. Kindle said, turning away.

"What did she say?"

Ms. Kindle left the room, and I heard footsteps on the stairs. 

"What did you say to her, Marian?"

"Nothing, she asked if I was your wife, and I told her that I'm your girlfriend. Who is she, anyway?" Marian asked in a tone of voice that was new to me. She sounded bitter. 

"She doesn't know about Peggy," I mused, realizing what Ms. Kindle must be thinking. 

"You didn't answer my question. Who is she?" 

"She's representing her father in the estate settlement. His share is the same as my dad's."

"Is she as young as she sounds? Is she staying in that same house with you?"

"Marian, she's married with children. She makes her bed on a mat in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I sleep on the floor in the living room. We've been working sixteen hour days. Anyway, she's going home for a few days."

We talked for twenty minutes. I tried to tell her about the old house, the things we were finding, and our plans to dispose of them. She accused me of sounding excited. "You're having too much fun!"

"My parents made the right choice by sending me here. This is the kind of job I do well," I said, knowing that I was fueling her assertion that I was having too much fun. 

Marian left me with a parting shot. "She's taking a few days off. Is your presence so indispensable that you can't come home for a few days?"

I didn't get a chance to explain things to Ms. Kindle. Mr. McMahan arrived while we were having breakfast, an hour early. She quickly decided to take the seven o'clock bus. 

"Good luck with the silent auction," she said, as she handed Mr. McMahan her travel bag.

I told her to have a good time, filled my mug with coffee, and climbed the stairs to Uncle Mackey's room, where I planned to spend the day.



Distribution Ch. 04



Chapter 4: New developments -- unresolved issues.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Uncle Mackey's room was an orderly haphazard. While the litter screamed chaos, it had been strewn about systematically. With the exception of the bookshelves at one end of the room, everything was placed within reach of the single swivel chair. 

One look at the lone window told me that trying to open it would be a waste of time. Why borrow frustration? This was my day to look for clues. I booted the computer, and picked up one of the automotive magazines. It was dated April, 2007, a month before Mackey's death. Since there was no address label on the magazine, I decided that he must have picked it up at a newsstand. 

I was leafing through the magazine when I heard a voice.

"Hello, is anyone here?" It was Nancy Dickens.

"I'm up here."

She was dressed meticulously. Should I tell her that she looked nice? The white pleated skirt outlined her legs when she moved, and the silk blouse hinted that the bra was a darker shade of green. Her hair had been brushed to a bright sheen. I suspected that she smelled good, too.

"Are you going to a party, Nancy?"

She bristled and blushed at the same time. "I stopped by to see if you have something for me to do. My shift is from noon until eight PM today."

"Your shift?"

"I told you that I have a job. I work at the library." 

"Oh, I didn't know you worked there. I thought you were merely representing the friends of the library."

"I've been the assistant librarian for ten years. I'm not a member of the group that call themselves the friends of the library. I begged them to let me represent their interest in the Peoples' estate. I told them that I could be tough, but I now realize that I've been unreasonably critical of your methods. I'm sorry that I questioned the expenses you wanted to spend, and I'm sorry that I criticized Paige for taking a few days off. God knows she's had her share of troubles."

"What do you mean?" I asked. Was Nancy talking about Ms. Kindle? 

Nancy shifted from one foot to the other, making her thighs spread the pleats of her skirt. Her legs, from her knees down, were bare, and she was wearing white sandals. Should I offer the only chair to her?

"You don't know? I can't believe that you've been living in the same house for the better part of a week and she hasn't told you."

"She's a private person, and I guess I am too. We don't make it a practice of talking. She hasn't told me what?"

Nancy shifted her weight, watched me, and must have decided that I really didn't know. "Her husband was killed in a gangland slaying." 

"Russell Kindle isn't her husband? When did the slaying take place?"

"I don't know who Russell Kindle is. Her husband was Peter or Patrick. I don't remember. Are you sure you didn't know?"

This changed everything. Paige Kindle was the widow of a man who had suffered a horrible death. Had he been a member of a gang? It was no wonder that she had been distrustful of me. Marian had made it worse by telling her that she was my girlfriend. Ms. Kindle didn't know that the mother of my children died in two thousand six. What must she think of me?

"I'm from hundreds of miles away. How would I know?"

"It happened about three years ago. The newspaper should be in our archives. I'll make a copy of the article for you, but you've got to do something for me, too."

"What's that?"

"They're nipping at my heels like a pack of starving wolves. They want to know how much the estate is worth. I've got to give them something soon, Brian."

"I assume you're speaking of the friends of the library?"

She nodded. "They're friends in name only."

"I can't give you an accurate figure until I speak to Mr. Nelson. For now, you can tell them that three percent of the estate will buy a lot of books, but there are some unknowns, such as the taxes we'll have to pay, and how well we'll do with the sale of the stock and the antiques."

Nancy left seemingly satisfied with my explanation. She promised to attach the newspaper article about the gangland slaying of Ms. Kindle's husband to an email. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said.

I searched Uncle Mackey's computer files, hoping to find an accounting of his and Elsie's finances, but found nothing along those lines. There were, however, letters and e-mail messages. The letters were mainly to magazine editors, and the e-mails were mainly from fans of his work. From one of the letters I learned that Uncle Mackey had worked for newspapers, he'd continued to write since his retirement.

There were two, four-drawer file cabinets. One was locked, and I couldn't find the key. 

In the top drawer of the other file cabinet, I found files that would keep me busy for the rest of the day. There were invoices for everything we'd found in the barn. I was able to match the correct description with the automobile parts and the war memorabilia items. 

Ms. Whitney called, saying that Mr. Nelson wanted to make sure that I had everything in place to have a successful silent auction. I assured her that we were ready. I then told her about Nancy Dickens' request that I provide the friends of the library an estimate of the estate's value. She assured me that she would consult the attorney, but it might be the following week before she could let me know. 

I thanked her, but as we said goodbye, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was left with. Her soft voice vibrated in my ears. She always sounded like she was about to climax. I was reminded of the way her lips looked...kissable. 

It wasn't ten minutes before she called again. "Mr. Nelson cautions that you minimize the amount of information you give the other representatives of the heirs. I'll be happy to stop by and help you format a very conservative report."

By a conservative report, I assumed she meant to keep some of the accounts in reserve, something I was perfectly capable of doing. I couldn't form the words to discourage her from dropping by. She was on her way before I returned the receiver to its cradle.

I went downstairs to wait for Ms. Whitney to arrive. Was she married? I'd been so busy peeking at the small amount of exposed cleavage that I'd not paid any attention to her ring finger. 

I was entering the account balances that I could remember into my laptop when she came through the door. I paid particular attention to her left hand, and saw a large diamond. I turned the screen for her to see the numbers I'd entered.

U.S. Treasury notes: 420; stock value: 300; bank certificates of deposit: 200; checking account: 70; retirement accounts: 50.

"Those numbers are in hundreds of thousands. The treasury notes mature in the amount of twenty thousand dollars per month; the stock value is as of yesterday, the bank certificates mature by June 2008. One of the checkbooks is missing, but I hope to find it, Mackey and Elsie had drawn down on their retirement accounts," I said, realizing that I'd been talking fast because Ms. Whitney was leaning down to see the screen. Her blouse was open at the front, and the long fingernails on her left hand were tapping on my thigh, as if she were adding the numbers as I quoted them. 

"That's over a million dollars," she said in the same soft voice I'd heard when she was talking on the phone. Only now, her body was inches from mine, and her perfume was in my nostrils. 

"Yes and those numbers do not include the furniture or the collections in the barn and the basement. There are also the antique automobiles and the house," I said, conscious that I was still talking faster than normal.

She turned her head and gazed into my eyes. Our lips were three inches apart. She was practically begging to be kissed. I tried to concentrate as I watched her lips move.

"You've been away from home for a week. It must be hard for you to be separated from your wife," Ms. Whitney said, emphasizing hard.

I was tempted. God! How I was tempted to put my finger into the crevice between her breasts, and pull the bra toward me. Her lips would be soft and yielding. There would be no resistance as I peeled the skirt and blouse off, and lay her on my sleeping blanket. She would raise her ass to permit me to lower her panties, and she would whimper when my tongue parted the lips of her pussy. I would feel her hands on the back of my head, and when she released it, I would look up at her to see that she'd removed the bra. Her nipples would be pointing upward, and her eyes would be smoldering. 

I heard an intake of air, and that's when I remembered the large diamond on her left hand. 

Ms. Whitney must have gotten tired of bending over, or she may have given up on being kissed. Perhaps she remembered that she was married. She straightened her body, and moved her hand from my thigh to my shoulder. From the pressure she was putting on my shoulder, I wondered if she was unsteady on her feet. She cleared her throat.

"Mr. Nelson suggests that you provide only minimal information to the representatives of the heirs."

I wondered if she knew that she'd just repeated what she'd told me on the phone. "In other words, I should withhold information."

She moved away from me. "I didn't say that. Give them the conservative picture. You don't know how much will be realized from the stock. You also need to be prepared for contingencies."

"I understand," I said, wondering how much it would cost to connect the house to town water.

"I wish you success tomorrow, and I hope you have a pleasant Labor Day, Mr. Driver."

"Thank you, Ms. Whitney."

She looked me up and down, giving me a final once over, before she walked out the door. I watched her until she was sitting inside her car. She had her hands on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. Was that a shudder of her entire body that I saw?

I hurried back upstairs and opened the second drawer on the file cabinet. The original copy of Uncle Mackey's magazine articles were in order by the date they were submitted. I thumbed through the folders, and decided to return to drawer number two later. 

Drawer number three contained his World War Two military service record. From letters to his family, which had been preserved all these years, I learned that when war was declared on Japan, he was a twenty-one-year-old college senior. He enlisted almost immediately, and was inducted in February 1942. His letters described the army as 'hurry up and wait.' He finished boot camp the same day his classmates were getting their diplomas. 

After boot camp, Private Peoples was made an instructor to new inductees. At first, his letters home were quite humorous. He wrote that in one day, he had introduced young men to recognize tear gas, operated a contrary movie projector, and held a class on the risks associated with venereal diseases. He soon became a Private First Class. After a year at the same duty station, his letters became cynical. He had requested a transfer and was turned down. He was instead promoted to Corporal. During the next year, he applied to attend radio school, and when his application was denied, he requested paratrooper school. He was promoted to Sergeant and told that he was too valuable to lose in his present position. 

In September, 1944, he got his wish and was transferred to an infantry unit that was training for deployment. But first, he was granted a furlough. On his fifth day at home, he met Elsie Driver, a twenty-two year old beauty, who was a recent college graduate. Twenty days later, when it was time for him to leave, he had not only fallen in love, he'd proposed marriage to Elsie and they'd had sexual intercourse four times. She turned down his proposal, but promised to write to him every day. 

A photo album caught my attention. There were pictures from his early days in the army, followed by the furlough when he met Elsie. They looked young and happy, but the next group of pictures showed him wearing hospital pajamas and leaning on a set of crutches. He was smiling, but looked much older than the summer before when he and Elsie had hammed it up at a picnic. 

It was late in the day when I realized that I was hungry. I don't know what made me want to open the bottom drawer. I took a small bundle of letters downstairs, intending to explore their contents while I ate some of Ms. Kindle's chicken. 

But the letters would have to wait. There were phone calls to make, and email to answer. There was a message from Ms. Dickens with a newspaper article attached. 

I told everyone the same thing; we were making good progress, but there was still a lot to do. When I went to bed, the letters were sitting on the kitchen table, bound together with a strand of fading, pink ribbon. Nor had I downloaded the newspaper article about the slaying of Ms. Kindle's husband.

Charlie was the first to report for work. I ask him to help me take pictures of the antique automobiles. We opened the barn doors, stripped the drop cloths off the old cars, and took shots from every angle. 

On our way back to the house, I told Charlie about my find. "Mackey had invoices describing every purchase he made, and that includes the war memorabilia," I said.

Ms. Dickens was there, looking stunning in a summer blazer, shirt with a wide collar, short pants, and what looked like nurse's shoes. With the exception of the shoes, the outfit was the color of beach sand. I let her watch me fill out the bid for the game table before I placed it in an envelope and handed it to her.

"Are you sure you want to pay that much for a table?" she asked.

I assured her that I was serious about buying it, and she wished me good luck.

Mr. McMahan was dressed casually, but Nadine Meriwether showed up wearing a long skirt, colorful blouse, and oversized jewelry. The dangling earrings extended to her shoulders, and the beads in her necklace were one inch in diameter. 

I put Mr. McMahan to work assembling the collections of antique scales and whirl-a-gigs we'd agreed to use to occupy dealers while they waited to come inside the house. 

"What if they want to buy one of the scales or whirl-a-gigs?" Ms. Meriwether asked.

"Explain that we're planning to advertise those items on eBay, and that we're merely using them to keep the antique dealers busy while they're waiting."

"I'll keep them busy," Ms. Meriwether said, hiking her long skirt to reveal fish netting covered ankles. 

"I'll bet you will." 

A total of twelve dealers showed up, but two of them were husband and wife teams so that meant that one of the eleven dealers had decided not to come. 

Ms. Dickens greeted everyone with the same pleasant, but brief message, telling them to take their time, but to be considerate of those waiting to bid. 

My attention was divided between the living room and the dining room, particularly watching the visitors inspect the game table and the contents of the hutch. 

Seeing an incredible amount of interest in the game table, I printed a statement, which I attached to the table, declaring that one of the members of the distribution committee had placed a bid for it. Several of the dealers discovered that the drawer extended from one side of the table to the other, but I only saw one person look on the underside to read the inscription Mackey's mother had made. 

I spoke to each of the dealers on their way out the door, collected their bid forms, and answered their questions. One man handed back a blank form, saying that none of the rubbish was worth bidding on. I thanked him for coming. 

Two of the dealers wanted to know what authority we had to sell the contents of the house. I gave them copies of my credentials. Several people wanted more information about the antique automobiles, and one guy begged me to sell him some of the whirl-a-gigs. 

As I collected the forms, I entered the bids into a spreadsheet. When the last dealer dropped off his form, I noticed that many of them were waiting for the results of their bids. Nadine Meriwether was doing her best to entertain them. I quickly circled the winning bids on the forms and added the total amount for each dealer. 

There seemed to be a pattern in the bidding. The high bid for each item was always much higher than the other bids for that item. In almost every case, the winning bidder had fallen in love with the furniture. The exception was my bid for the game table. My bid of one thousand, seventy-three dollars was only seventy-three dollars above the next bid. 

I called the dealers inside, one at a time, to settle up, and then Mr. McMahan and Charlie helped them move their purchases outside to their van or truck. . 

The bid form clearly stated that only cash, good checks or bank drafts would be accepted as payment. The winning bidder for the dining room furniture submitted a credit card. I explained that we had not made arrangements to accept that means of payment. At first he stalled, and then he threatened to leave. It became obvious to me that he did not have the funds to write a check. I desperately wanted to accept his bid because it was double the amount of the next one.

I called Ms. Shaffer, the lady at the bank who had been so helpful in getting the utility companies to cooperate with our plea to have their services resumed. The way Ms. Shaffer remembered me made me proud that I'd phoned to thank her for her help. She said to send the dealer to the bank. I told him to see Ms. Shaffer, and he returned twenty minutes later with the cash. 

The couple that bought the furniture in the downstairs bedroom wanted to know the amount of my bid for the game table. I told them the number, and the lady chastised her husband for making their bid one thousand dollars. "Mackey Peoples was a famous writer. We could have easily gotten two thousand dollars for that table," she said. 

"There were no bids for the two chairs that Mackey's father gave him. I'll let you have them for one hundred dollars each," I offered, and the lady said that she would write the check while I helped her husband carry the dressing table out to their van. 

I had no expectations as to what we could realize from the sale. Some items had exceeded the amount that I would have paid for them while I felt that we had given other pieces of furniture away. Everything had been picked up except the leather covered pieces in the living room and a bed in one of the bedrooms. 

When all the dealers were gone, I announced the total receipts, and was surprised by the cheer that followed. 

We congratulated each other on doing a good job. Thinking that I would raid the cookie jar, I offered to take everyone to lunch, but they all said they had plans. Even Charlie was going out the door when we heard it; the float in the expansion tank was calling for water, but the pump was not responding.

"Shit!" I said. Charlie said he would get his toolbox and be right back.

We worked on the pump until midnight without success. We were tired, dirty, and hadn't stopped for anything to eat. I sliced chicken and made sandwiches, which we ate with a beer. 

"Charlie, would you be interested it having Uncle Mackey's tools?" I asked.

As tired as he was, I saw his eyes light up. That was enough for me. "I want you to have them, but we'll have to put it to a vote. Ms. Kindle has already said that she will vote with me."

"I couldn't accept them unless the vote was ninety-seven to zero," he said.

"Leave it to me," I said, confident that I could persuade the other three to agree to let Charlie have the tools. They'd all seen how much of his time he had contributed, hadn't they?"

Charlie left, saying that he would be back bright and early the next day. I was hesitant about returning her call, but desire to talk to Henrietta won out. 

"You took long enough to call me. Have you been on a date?" she asked.

I told her that I was sorry if I had woken her, and proceeded to tell her about my day. "I had an urge to hear your voice before I go to bed."




Distribution Ch. 04



"Now you've ruined it for me. I won't be able to sleep a wink after hearing you speak of urges. I get urges too, you know?"

"Did you have something to tell me, or did you just want to hear my voice?"

"I don't know if I should tell you this, Brian."

"Come on, don't keep me in suspense."

"It's your girlfriend. I was taking the trash out when I saw her coming down the stairs from the loft."

"That's interesting. Did she see you?" 

"She made some excuse about having business with Mr. Leach."

"What's wrong with that? They do business at her bank."

"Brian, it was nine-thirty on Saturday night. Doesn't she have a kid? It made me wonder if she hired a babysitter so she could visit a bank customer on Saturday night."

"I see your point. She may have taken Tommy to his grandparents."

"Are you making excuses for her?"

"Actually, Henry, I don't give a shit if she visits one of the Leach brothers. She called here the other night and made a stink when she found out Ms. Kindle is sleeping on the second floor. I told Marian that Ms. Kindle is married and the mother of two, but just yesterday I found out differently."

I'm sure that Henrietta had wise-ass comments that she could have made, but she must have heard the sincerity in my voice. She knew me well enough to know that if I said Ms. Kindle was sleeping on the second floor, there was no more to it than that.

"Do you want me to tell you if I see Marian fooling around with Mr. Leach?"

"It might be interesting to compare notes, especially if she calls me again."

Henrietta laughed, and said she would keep her eyes peeled for activity on the second floor. 

Charlie got the pump to work at eleven AM on Sunday morning. "I don't know how long it will hold," he said.

I called home and apologized for not calling sooner. Amanda sounded incredibly understanding, and I could tell that she had coached Phillip to act the same way. 

"We know that you have an important job to do, Dad. Aunt Ginny says that you have something to prove to your mom and dad."

"I hadn't thought of it that way, but Ginny may be right. Thanks for not asking when I'm coming home."

"Did you find any more money?" Phillip asked.

"No, but I'll keep my eyes open," I laughed. 

I told them to kiss their grandmother and to be good. They said they would.

I cleaned up, and drove to a mall where I found clothes that would be suitable to wear to the cookout the next day. 

After writing a very conservative statement outlining the funds available for distribution to the heirs of the estate, I settled on one of the remaining pieces of furniture in the living room and opened the packet of letters. I soon learned that Elsie had not kept her promise to write to him every day, but he often commented that weekly letters were worth the wait.

October 2, 1944

My Dearest Bunny,

You don't mind my calling you by your nickname, do you? Mackey sounds so formal. 

I miss you! I miss your crooked smile and the way you frowned when I told you that I wanted to wait until you return before I gave you an answer. How I wish I'd said yes. 

There are other things that I would have done differently if I'd had my wits about me. For one thing, I would have had sex with you a lot sooner and more often. I miss your cock and the way it felt inside me. 

Bunny, do you remember the time we made love on the blanket? You had taken one bite out of a sandwich when I told you that I wanted you inside me. I saved the sandwich because it shows your teeth marks, but mama says its showing signs of mold and she's going to take it out of the refrigerator soon. 

Be a good boy, and come back to me. I promise that it will be different the next time we go on a picnic. You'll see. I've been practicing on a banana...watch me blush.

Take care, my Love.

Your Elsie.

I felt like I was trespassing on sacred ground, but I couldn't help reaching for the next letter in the stack.

October 7, 1942

My Sweet Elsie,

The arrival of your letter was like seeing an oasis in the distance. After finishing a five mile march, I couldn't wait to rip the envelope open and drink the nourishment of your words.

Five miles may not sound like a long distance, but when more than half if it is done while crawling through barbed wire on your stomach, it can be quite exhausting. 

Fortunately, I don't have to join tomorrow's activities. The old man wants me to defend some boys that were caught trying to sneak out of camp. I'll have the morning to prepare for the case, and will appear with the defendants at two PM. The court martial should not take long. They'll be convicted, but will receive suspended sentences because we need every man in the company. 

That's enough about me. I think of the picnic often, and I wouldn't want to change a thing. I have fond memories of the way you grinned at me as you seductively undressed us. That special way the tip of your tongue extended through your lips as you pulled my skivvies down will always be indelibly ingrained in my mind. It's like my ace in the hole. I have no way of describing the way it helps me through tough spots. You can be assured that I will be thinking of your tongue when I'm defending those boys tomorrow.

I count the days until we can be together. 

My enduring love,

Your Bunny 

I kept reading. His letters ranged from hilarious descriptions of the training that he was undergoing to the horrific side of things he'd witnessed. He described his company as a mixture of grisly veterans, men who told gruesome stories about the fighting on the Pacific islands, to young kids, boys that believed everything they heard. Mackey was not a member of either group. He'd been in the Army for over two years, experienced nothing like what the veterans described, but was smart enough to sidestep conflict. His counsel was sought by the old and the young alike. The old man called him a book-soldier. 

By January of 1945, Elsie was letting fear of the unknown slither into her letters. The night before he was to ship out, he tried to reassure her that he would return to her. That was the last letter she received for three months, and she was beside herself with anguish. 

March 27, 1945

My Sweet Elsie,

I've written several letters in the past month, but I know this one stands a good chance of making it on a mail boat headed for home. 

Don't be alarmed. It could have been a lot worse. The Marines took the brunt of it. We didn't go ashore until late that first night. The old guys were great. They paired off with the young kids, and kept up constant chatter until the old man told us to shut up. I'd be the first to admit though; it was pretty scary in the dark. The sound from the big guns seemed to be coming from the hills, but I couldn't be sure if they were ours or the enemy's. 

We made it to the undergrowth and dug in, only to be told to keep moving. We did that twice more before we were told to settle in for the night. The next morning we took casualties from an aerial attack. It took out our radioman and one of the old guys, just missing the Major. He called me up to where he was and told me to take over the radio. If it hadn't been that I'd just witnessed death for the first time, the rest of this letter would sound like a comedy of errors. 

Do you remember my telling you that I once applied for radio school? Well, that's what was going through my mind when the old man told me to learn how to operate it...and fast. Fortunately, the radioman had lost control of the radio when he was hit. I found it a few yards away from his body, and like any skilled technician would do, I shook it to see if it worked. I looked for a book, and found none, I had to wing it. 

The main thing a radioman needs to know is the jargon. I got yelled at by the forward commander until I learned to repeat everything he said, verbatim, and as loud as my voice would allow. It was over a week later when he found out that I'd had no previous experience working the radio. You see, we are bunkmates in the hospital. Colonel Devon recognized my voice and I recognized his.

I'll write again soon. The Colonel wants his bandages changed. I'll pretend to change them. You see, he doesn't know his left foot is missing. He doesn't know he's blind, either. 

I told you it could be worse. I still have my limbs and my sight. 

There's nothing to worry about, my love.

Your Bunny

Needing to take a break from the letters, I tied the ribbon around the bundle, and opened my laptop. Ms. Dickens wrote that the attachment was only one of many articles about the death of Paige Kindle's husband. 

The newspaper article was dated October 12, 2004. The account of the killing was brief and hard to read. Patrick Kindle, an attorney, was caught in the crossfire between two gangs that were believed to be battling over territorial rights. The article went on to say that Mr. Kindle was a husband and the father of two children. 

I had a lot of things on my mind when I tried to go to sleep that night. Uppermost, was the hope that the pump would keep working until we connected the house to town water. My mind drifted to Marian, and what Henrietta had said about seeing her leaving the loft above the café and hardware store. There were also the love letters between Mackey and Elsie. Also, what was Ms. Kindle's husband doing in a part of the city where gang fights took place? What put me to sleep though was the thought of the Labor Day cookout.



Distribution Ch. 05



Chapter 5: Sand between her toes

Labor Day, 2007

Charlie showed up just as I was untying the ribbon that held the packet of letters together, offering to help with the windows. I took him upstairs to Mackey's room, and after an hour of trying every trick he knew, Charlie had to agree that it was the most stubborn window he'd ever run across.

"You may as well face it, Brian. All the windows are going to have to be replaced. I've been telling Mackey that for years, but he refused to believe me."

"I agree, but I may need you to help me convince the other committee members that it's necessary. We can't put the house on the market with windows that won't open."

"The windows the manufacturers offer these days will pay for themselves in a few years. They'll improve the appearance of the house too," he said, looking around Mackey's room at the organized clutter. 

We went downstairs and I walked outside with him. "I'm going to mow the lawns tomorrow," he said. 

"Do you do both lawns?" I asked.

"Yes, but I skipped a week because the grass isn't growing as fast this time of year. I have a small tractor so it doesn't take long," he assured me.

I hadn't given the landscaping a thought. Something else suddenly occurred to me. "Did Mackey drive a car?"

"He had an accident about a year ago. I took them shopping and to medical appointments. The church people picked them up on Sundays and brought them home."

"You're a good neighbor, Charlie." "I try to be," he said, matter-of-factly.

For the next two hours, I engrossed myself in the letters Mackey and Elsie had exchanged over sixty years ago. I learned that he returned to the States the end of April, and spent the summer of 1945 in a hospital. It was during the hospital stay that he figured out what he wanted to do. Indirectly, Elsie had helped make that decision. 

There were only three letters left to read when I got an urge to call home. I felt guilty for being separated from my family. I told them about the cookout that I was going to attend, vowing to make it up to them as soon as I was able to be with them.

They acted as though they had not heard that I was going to have lobster. They were excited about school starting the next day. I spoke to Mary for a few minutes. She said that everything was running smoothly. "How are things going there?" she asked.

"The barn is still full of things we hope to advertise on eBay. I'll send you some photos of the antique cars and the whirl-a-gigs," I said. 

I was a little surprised that Amanda didn't mention Marian and Mary didn't either. Had Marian been avoiding them? 

I was stepping out of the shower when I heard the phone ringing.

"Brian, would you mind picking me up at the bus stop?"

"I'll be glad to," I said, wondering if she had lost Mr. McMahan's number.

"We're about thirty minutes away."

"I'll be there," I said. 

This was going to make me late getting to the cookout, but I didn't care. 

Ms. Kindle took one look at the way I was dressed and immediately understood that I was going to a party. In addition to a large piece of luggage, she had a sleeping bag and her own laptop. She was wearing knee-length pants, a sleeveless blouse and white sneakers with no socks. 

"The Meriwethers are having a cookout. Why don't you come with me?" I asked, as I tossed her luggage in the bed of my truck.

"I couldn't do that," she said, blushing at the thought of crashing a party.

I used every argument I could think of as we drove to the house. 

"I'm sure they would have invited you if they had known you would be back this early."

"That shouldn't have stopped them from inviting me."

"That's true, but I'm sure you will be welcome."

"I'm not as sure."

"They're serving lobster."

She almost cracked. "I'll admit that I'm partial to lobster, but it wouldn't be right for me to show up uninvited. Anyway, I don't have anything to wear."

"Look, Mr. Meriwether is a stockbroker. He's going to hit me up for a chance to help unload the stock. I could use your help in deflecting him."

"Give me fifteen minutes to change," she said, smiling shyly. 

I carried her luggage upstairs and waited for her to get ready. I heard the water running for a short time, then the floor creak as she walked from the bathroom to the bedroom. 

It was twenty minutes before she came downstairs, but the results were worth the wait. Her excuse that she had nothing to wear was untrue. The short skirt was white, and the red and white top stretched over her breasts, giving them cone-like definition. Her hair was combed down and she wore more makeup than I'd seen on her before. A single silver band replaced the wedding rings she usually wore. 

We were going to be late but I didn't care. I told her about the silent auction, quoting prices that some of the pieces had fetched, including the game table that I had purchased. She didn't comment. I got the impression that she was nervous about the reception she would receive at the cookout. 

We had to park a couple of blocks from the Meriwether home and walk along a street with cars parked in front of older summer cottages on one side and water on the other one. It was a nice day and the walk was pleasant. The beach was littered with sunbathers and swimmers. A few sailboats dotted the cove. 

The Meriwether house had been recently updated. They were at the front steps, greeting latecomers. I thought that Ms. Meriwether did a good job of hiding her surprise at seeing Ms. Kindle with me. I saw no need to explain her presence. 

"This is my husband, Freddy. These are the people I speak about so often. Brian Driver and Ms. Kindle are deeply involved in the Peoples estate."

I shook hands with 'Freddy', and had no sooner returned my hand to my side when I felt Ms. Kindle's hand slide into mine. 

"Please call me Paige," she said. 

"What can I get for you to drink?" Fredrick Meriwether asked us. He was older than his wife, had a streak of gray running down the center of his head, and although he was personable, there was a small scar on his cheek that gave him a hardened look. I asked for a beer and Ms. Kindle said she would have the same. He told us to follow him, and that left Nadine Meriwether to greet another guest. 

Ms. Kindle let go of my hand as soon as we started to walk. The houses were close together and guests had spread out to the adjacent front lawns. 

A bar was set up on the front porch. Fred introduced us to some of the people who were waiting for drinks, gave our orders to the bartender and excused himself, saying that he needed to mingle.

While on the porch we found out that the entire neighborhood had been invited to the cookout. We got our beers and slowly made our way across the street to where a volleyball game was in progress. I was surprised when Ms. Kindle sat down in the sand and proceeded to take her shoes and socks off. 

"I want to feel the sand between my toes," she said.

We were invited to join the game. I accepted, but Ms. Kindle said she was content to watch. I didn't want to get my new shirt sweaty so I took it off. She caught it before it hit the ground and spread it out in her lap. 

It had been years since I'd played volleyball. There was a lot of good-natured ribbing and high-fiving. We continued to play even after dinner was announced. From the way the serving line was moving, it was going to be some time before we got our lobsters.

When the game broke up, Ms. Kindle gave me my shirt and turned for me to brush the sand off of her skirt. She had put her shoes on, and she still took my hand as we crossed the street. 

Several people introduced themselves to us while we waited in the serving line. They were a mixture of neighbors, business associates of Fred, or friends of the couple. 

I was given a small bucket of steamed clams, and the server handed Ms. Kindle a container of melted butter. Plastic plates were used to hold the lobster and corn on the cob. We were directed to umbrella tables that had been set up in the Meriwethers' backyard and the neighbors' backyards on both sides. 

Ms. Whitney called to us from a nearby table. She introduced us to her husband before we took our seats. "Brian and Paige, I'm so glad to see you both here. This is my husband, Harold. Please call me Janice."

We shook hands with Harold. Like Nadine's husband, he was older than Janice. His hands were massive, his shoulders broad, and his skin was dark from spending too much time in the sun. 

I helped Ms. Kindle with her chair. On the table were bottles of wine, wine glasses, plastic dishes, and lobster tools wrapped in napkins. She saw right off that this was all new to me. She showed me how to open the clamshells, dip the meat in the melted butter, and dispose of the shells in a plastic dish that had been placed on the table for that purpose. 

"Harold is a contractor," Janice Whitney said.

I felt Ms. Kindle's knee bump mine, and when I looked her way she gave me a knowing stare. 

"I knew that when I shook hands with him," I said to Ms. Whitney, thinking how close I'd come to locking lips with her only two days before. What a mistake that would have been. Had it been part of her plan to gain work for her husband? I wondered if she'd had something to do with Nadine Meriwether inviting me to the cookout. I felt the knee nudge mine again.

"Are you acquainted with contractors, Brian?" Harold asked.

"I hire contractors when I need to," I said, and drew the attention of the other people sitting at the table. One of the guys introduced himself as a member of Mr. Meriwether's team at the office, and then he turned to the young woman to his left and divulged that they'd only been married three months. 

"Congratulations, I'm Brian," and turning to Ms. Kindle, "this is...Paige." 

She smiled at the young couple, and then at me, but I didn't have time to enjoy the way she was looking at me because the other male at the table was saying that he was a neighbor of the Meriwethers. "This is Meg and we've been married a lot longer than three months."

It was supposed to be a joke, but I didn't take it that way. "That was my wife's name," I said, before I knew that my lips were moving. 

A hush came over the table, and 'I'm sorry,' was uttered by everyone. I was embarrassed to have caused the mood to go sour, and started talking aimlessly. "I never called her Meg. Her name was Margaret, but I knew her as Peggy or Peg," I said, stopping short of telling them that we'd never married. 

Paige drew my attention to the lobster in front of me. She showed me how to rip the body apart, and to use the tools to dig the meat out. I was so absorbed with the way she was explaining the various parts of the animal that I missed hearing Harold's question.

"Brian, my husband is asking how you happened to hire contractors," Nadine said, her lips practically touching my ear.

Paige had just dipped the most succulent part of a lobster into butter, and fed it to me. I motioned that my mouth was full, leaned back in my chair, and place my arm on the back of her chair. 

"I've had some bad experiences trying to do some things that I'm not qualified for. I no longer fool myself into thinking that I'll pick it up with practice. I can lay flooring, but I always hire a tradesman to sand and finish it. There was a time that I thought I could learn to hang wall covering, but I've given that up. Electrical and plumbing work are foreign to me and until yesterday, I thought I knew something about freeing stubborn windows, but now I know differently."

I removed my arm from the back of Paige's chair, and picked up the ear of corn from my plate, but before I could take the first bite, Harold asked another question.

"How did you happen to hire contractors, Brian?"

I felt Paige's knee, only this time it was not a bump or a nudge. It was skin-touching-skin. I glanced at her and saw her raise an eyebrow, as if to caution me. 

"I've refurbished two houses. One is an antique and the other one is our family home. Most recently, I converted an attic into a loft," I said, taking a bite of corn, and feeling a thump as Paige's knee met mine. Was that her way of applauding what I'd said?

"It sounds like you're comfortable acting as the general on the Peoples home," Harold said. Paige's knee was still in contact with mine, but I didn't know the meaning of the way her knee was rubbing mine. Was she telling me to take my time with my answer? Did she know the effect her knee was having on me?

"The house is in pretty good condition. There's really not that much that needs to be done," I said, and felt the absence of Paige's knee, but only for a second. It returned with a forceful slap that I was sure others at the table were able to hear. Was she chastising me for lying about the house being in good condition? 

We resumed eating and let the others at the table carry on the conversation. A server came around, offering us a second lobster. Some of the others took one, but I declined, saying that I hadn't finished the first one. 

Fredrick Meriwether came by to make sure that we were being taken care of. I noticed that he was especially attentive to the member of his group and his young bride. 

"How's my favorite contractor?" Fred asked, standing behind Harold's chair and massaging his shoulders. "Brian, I highly recommend this man if you need work done at the Peoples' property. He converted our cottage into a year-around-home."

I felt Paige's knee against mine, rubbing, much like Fred's fingers must have felt on Harold's shoulders. Was she warning me to watch what I said?

"Thanks for the advice, Fred," I said, and watched our host move to another table. Paige's knee gave me a final rub before moving away.

I decided to try something, just to see if she would react. "How's business, Harold? Are most contractors busy right now?" I asked, hoping to find out how eager they would be to quote on the work I was planning to have done to the Peoples' property.

Paige acted so quickly that her knee missed mine, coming up under my leg and lifting it off the ground, surprising both of us. She retreated, blushing. I took it as a warning that I was treading on dangerous ground.

"We're in the midst of a slowdown, Brian. People are hunkering down. There's only a limited amount of work, and we're all undercutting our prices." 

He sounded so morose that I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Could it be that his search for work was what prompted his wife to come on to me? Had she done it with his knowledge, or was Janice naturally promiscuous? 

"I'd be glad for you to take a look at the work we need to do to put the Peoples' house on the market. Perhaps you can recommend a painter," I said, and felt Paige's knee tell me that she shared my compassion for the contractor.

Janice Whitney leaned over to whisper in my ear, "You won't be sorry." What did she mean by that?

Nadine Meriwether stopped by our table, admonishing me for eating so little. "Take one home," she said to Paige. "Make him a lobster roll tomorrow."

I didn't see Paige's response, but I was not surprised when a server brought us a bag containing two lobsters.

The party began to break up as soon as people had their fill of food and drink. Many of Fred's workmates made the excuse that they had to drive to Boston. We waited until dusk to say our goodbyes to Nadine and her husband. They invited us to come back when we could talk. 

As we walked to my truck, Paige slipped her hand in mine, saying, "We haven't heard the last of Fred being a stockbroker." 

"I know. He was good about avoiding the subject today. He must have known that we were on the alert. Next time we meet, he'll wage an all-out assault. I've seen that dark side in other people," I said, thinking of the training I'd conducted when I worked for the support center. I hadn't actually seen the dark side in the customers we spoke to. It was more of a feeling I got, which I warned my trainees to listen for. 

"We don't have to accept their invitation," Paige said, and I agreed with her. 

She gave me the job of opening the two lobsters and stripping them of their meat before she disappeared up the stairs. A minute later, I heard the water running in the upstairs bath. I was anxious to rid my own body of the sweat from the volleyball game and the smell of lobster from my hands. 

When I came out of the downstairs bathroom, Paige was sitting on the sofa, reading Uncle Mackey's and Aunt Elsie's love letters. She looked cute with her bare leg drawn up under her. She looked up briefly when I took a seat and reached for the last three letters in the stack. 

I could almost tell which letter she was reading by the way she smacked her lips, sighed as she turned a page, or how she exhaled as she reached for the next letter. 

"It was the battle for Iwo Jima, wasn't it?" she asked.

I looked up from the letter I was reading, and nodded, yes.

"It was so long ago, but he makes it sound like it happened yesterday."

I nodded again, and watched her return to the page she was reading. 

I'd finished reading the last letter and was rereading it, stalling to see her reaction to some of the gruesome descriptions that Uncle Mackey used to express the fierceness of the fighting, and the tenderness that Aunt Elise showed when assuring him that it was over, and promising to soothe his feelings when they were together. 

Paige suddenly burst into tears, dropped the pages she'd been reading and fled the room. I heard the upstairs bedroom door slam shut. 

I picked up the pages that she had dropped. The letter was the one that contained the paragraph: 'The Colonel wants his bandages changed. I'll pretend to change them. You see, he doesn't know his left foot is missing. He doesn't know he's permanently blind, either.'

I folded the letter, and placed it in the stack. As I got ready for bed, I thought about the day. Paige had called to ask me to pick her up at the bus stop. Should I read anything into that, or had she tried to call Mr. McMahan and found that he was busy? She'd only agreed to attend the cookout after I told her that I needed help fending off our host. I counted the times she placed her hand in mine, and there had been her knee rubbing against mine while I was verbally jousting with Harold Whitney. She'd shown no reaction when I revealed that my wife was deceased. 

Many of my questions were answered while we were having breakfast. 

"I owe you an apology for thinking badly of you," she said, looking up from her bowl of cereal.

"How's that?"

"I judged you wrongly when I found out about your girlfriend. I jumped to the conclusion that you were cheating on your wife."

"I see," I said, thinking how little she knew about me.

"What's funny?"

"I've been gone for nine days, and my girlfriend has turned on me."

A shadow appeared on her face, like she was tuning me out. "That's more information than I need to know. It's none of my business."

"It is your business. Why did you take my hand yesterday?"

"I was nervous, and anyway, I thought that you were married."

"You also thought that I was cheating on my wife."

"Not really, give me some credit, Brian. I'm a better judge of character than that."

She'd finished her cereal. She took a last sip of coffee, and got up, as if to leave me sitting at the breakfast table.

"I think its time that we both cleared some things up. I know about Patrick."

She sat back down and glared at me. "Whatever you know will be all you'll ever know. If you're looking for a thrill you won't get it from me."

"I have no reason to pry, but I didn't want you to find out that I know about Patrick if I talk in my sleep some night."

At first, her jeer was sinister, as if to say, 'fat chance of my hearing you say something in your sleep,' but her expression changed. "What are you hiding behind that placid stare?"




Distribution Ch. 05



"I've never been married. We lived together for over six years, I adopted Peg's daughter and we had a son together, but she wouldn't marry me. Marian and I were talking about getting married, but it wasn't because we loved each other. She was in a position to help me monetarily if I needed help. It would have been a marriage of convenience, and that's only one of the things that I would like to take back if I could."

Paige's gray eyes took me in for a solid minute. "I believe you, Brian. I've done some things that I'm not proud of either."

I wasn't ready to tell her about Georgia, and I wasn't in the mood to hear what she thought was so despicable. "Who is Russell?"

This struck her as humorous. She looked at the bottom of her coffee cup, smiling. "Russell is my brother. He wants to take his brother's place, but believe me, he's no Patrick Kindle." 

"He's not the only one that's in pursuit, is he?"

She showed me a set of even teeth. "You're very perceptive. Are you sure it's over between you and Marian?"

"My son told me he doesn't want to give up his room. That's good enough for me."

She stood up, dish, spoon and coffee cup in hand. I did the same, thinking that I would follow her to the sink, but we found ourselves in an awkward hug, holding the dish and spoon in one hand and the cup in the other, while trying to use our forearms to draw the other one to us. 

"I'm looking forward to hearing the wicked things you've done," she said as she pulled away.

The other members of the distribution committee were arriving. We discussed the agenda for the meeting as we walked to the gazebo to join them. I was able to explain the importance of getting unanimous approval to award Uncle Mackey's tools to Charlie. Paige nodded her understanding and I took a seat next to Nadine. 

"It was good to see you guys together yesterday," she whispered to me. Unfortunately, Mr. McMahan overheard her, and I could tell by the way he was glaring at me, that he knew it was Paige she was talking about. He didn't appear to be happy with her, either.

As we had discussed, Paige first asked for a report on the silent auction, which I supplied. She then asked me to provide the assets of the estate, and I handed out the very conservative reports that I had prepared. This prompted the same question from Mr. McMahan, Ms. Dickens and Nadine: 'When would the distributions begin?'

I pointed to the report that I'd just handed out, reminding them that the bulk of the estate was invested in stock, treasuries and certificates of deposit, all of which were scheduled to come due within the next twenty months. 

Paige called for new business, and I addressed the group, telling them of my wish to bestow Uncle Mackey's tools to Charlie. Ms. Dickens was the most vocal, wanting to know the value of the tools, and speaking negatively about the way Charlie had eavesdropped on our meetings. I told everyone about how he had worked on the pump until we got it to work, and how he'd tried to make the windows open and close. 

The first vote was ninety-one to six. In addition to Ms. Dickens, Mr. McMahan was also a dissenter. 

"Gordon, may I see you in private?" Paige asked, walking several feet onto the lawn. We watched her talk to him, pleading really. He kept shaking his head. At one point he stomped his foot, and it was clear that he was saying 'no.' She was just as animated, but restrained, not acting like a two-year-old who was not getting her way. 

"Hear that?" I asked, loud enough for Mr. McMahan to hear me. Charlie was rounding his house on his tractor, heading our way. "Mr. Hubert's been cutting the grass all summer. He also drove Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie to medical appointments and shopping. Shall I tell him to submit a bill for his services?"

Paige and Mr. McMahan returned to the gazebo and the next vote was ninety-seven for and zero. Charlie was to receive the tools. 

"I don't see why you should be the one to tell him that we voted to give him the tools, Brian."

"Would you like to tell him, Ms. Dickens?" She said that it would be her privilege and it was agreed that she would give Charlie the news.

The next order of business was my plea to obtain quotes to have the property connected to town water. After several minutes of explaining how difficult it was becoming to keep the well pump working, Paige called for a vote. The motion passed, eighty-eight to nine.

"If this is the way it's going to be with you two ganging up on the rest of us, I may as well go to work and skip the meetings," Ms. Dickens complained.

"It was only a vote to obtain quotes. There will be another vote before we appropriate funds," Paige pointed out, and when there was no response from the others, she asked me to continue.

I lumped getting quotations for new windows with getting quotes to paint the exterior of the house. What the hell! Why waste time if they were going to ignore my requests. The vote passed, ninety-one to six. Ms. Dickens and Mr. McMahan stared with defiance at Nadine for voting with Paige and me.

Before we broke up, I reminded everyone about the yard sale we would be holding on Saturday. "I'll place the ads today, and we'll get everything ready on Friday," I said, but I wasn't sure if anyone was listening.

"Our next meeting will be on Monday. I'll be back on Friday," Paige said, and then to me. "I'll call you well before the bus gets here." 

"Call me, I'll pick you up and bring you here. Brian's going to be busy preparing for the yard sale," Mr. McMahan said.

"No, Gordon. I agreed to let you take me to the bus station today. I'm sure Brian will have time to come after me on Friday. You will, won't you?"

I was a little confused. I'd just learned that she was leaving soon and would be back on Friday. "Sure, Paige, I'll come after you."

"Be sure and get a permit for the yard sale, Brian. I believe the fee is only ten dollars, but the town is very strict about knowing where yard sales are taking place," Nadine warned me. 

Charlie's tractor was making so much noise that the meeting would have had to break up even if we were not finished. 

I didn't get much of a chance to talk to Paige before she left because Mr. McMahan was hanging around waiting for her to get ready to go.

She did hug me, and tell me that she would call that night. I could only wave goodbye as she left with Mr. McMahan. 

The rest of the week went by slowly. I got very little accomplished. While I was at the town hall picking up the permit for the yard sale, I looked into what was required to connect the house to town water. The building inspector gave me a list of contractors that had performed the service in the past, but refused to recommend any of them or to warn me which ones to stay clear of. He didn't respond to my request for names of contractors that replaced windows, except to say that replacement windows were different than town water.

Charlie stopped by to say that Ms. Dickens had informed him that he was to receive Mackey's tools. He asked me twice if the vote had been unanimous, saying that he was verifying what Ms. Dickens had told him.

Paige called that evening. "I'm sorry that I didn't make the lobster roll for you. What did you have to eat today?"

"I stopped for rolls, and mixed it up. There's enough left for lunch tomorrow and the next day."

"I should have told you that I was leaving. That was mean of me to spring it on you that way."

"It's okay. What did you have to do to get Mr. McMahan to vote for Charlie getting the tools?"

"Did you see us arguing?"

"Yes."

"I had to agree to let him drive me to the bus, and..."

"And, what?"

"It involves you."

"Me, really?" realizing that we were talking like two seventh graders. But it was fun, and I was enjoying myself.

"He wanted me to go to a church supper with him. It's on Friday night."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"You're going with us."

"Oh, no, I'm no good at church suppers."

"Brian, you have to go. I don't want to be alone with him."

"Is that what you were arguing about?"

She was quiet for several seconds. "I told him that I wouldn't go unless you went with us."

"I was just teasing. Of course I'll go with you if you agree to send me messages with your knee."

"Brian, are you sure that you're over Marian?"

"I'm sure," I said. That was the only time we talked until she called from the bus on Friday afternoon.

The dealer came to pick up the two pieces of furniture in the living room and the bed from the upstairs bedroom. I sent him and his friend upstairs to get the bed while I found a place to store the letters and looked for money under the cushions. I only found fifty-five cents, no folding money. 

I sent request for bids to the contractors who had experience connecting town water to homes before, but accomplished very little else. I became nostalgic when I saw a school bus stop to pick up kids at the end of the street. Paige was constantly on my mind. 

Two significant things happened on Thursday, one bad and one good. 

I smelled trouble when I saw a Volvo station wagon stop in front of the house. A lady was dressed smartly in a business suit, and carrying a swanky looking briefcase. She stopped when she got halfway to the house, snapped a picture, and kept walking. I waited until she rang the doorbell the second time before I went to the door. 

She introduced herself as a member of the historical preservation society. I didn't invite her inside. Instead, I stepped out the door, thinking that the exterior was the extent of the preservation society's authority. 

She opened the briefcase and handed me her business card and a sheet of paper entitled, 'Maintaining the Past.' It was basically a list of taboos for owners of older homes. At the bottom of the page was, 'Society for the Preservation of History,' and the town by-laws that gave the society jurisdiction over the appearance of older homes in the town. 

I introduced myself and gave her one of my business cards. 

Mrs. Sarah Avery was looking at how the clapboards on the front of the house were peeling. She snapped a picture, and another one of the front door. She walked around the house. I followed. She snapped more pictures. 

"That structure will need to be straightened and reinforced."

"We're planning to have it razed and the debris hauled away," I said. 

Mrs. Avery shot a look at me that would have leveled the barn had it been directed toward it. "Mr. Driver, do you have no appreciation for historic structures? The barn was built in seventeen ninety-eight, one year after the house. It is the society's wish that it be preserved."

She was a tall woman, about fifty, had nice legs, and stood erect. Her mind was made up, but I had to try to change it. 

"Mrs. Avery, would you like to look inside the barn to see what would be involved in fulfilling the society's wish? The reason the structure leans to the right is that some of the beams are rotting. Squaring it up would be a major undertaking."

We were at the back of the house. She became more interested in the items that were strewn around the back yard than what I was saying about the barn. "We're having a yard sale on Saturday," I explained. 

"Saturday, you say? I love yard sales," she said, running her hand over a saddle maker's bench. 

"That may not be a yard sale item. If it doesn't sell, I'll buy it and put it in my antique shop."

"You have an antique shop? Does that mean you have an appreciation for old things, or are you only interested in making a profit?"

"I enjoy old things, but I don't mind letting them go if I make a profit."

"How much are you asking for the saddle maker's bench?"

"Two hundred dollars," I said.

"I'll take it."

She snapped some shots of the back of the house, but we never made it to the other side. I carried the bench to her car and told her to make the check out to the Peoples' Trust. 

"I can recommend a competent contractor who will give you a fair price for the work on the barn, Mr. Driver."

"If you're serious about us having to preserve the barn, I'll need something in writing to show the other members of the distribution committee."

She made a note to stipulate her wishes in writing. 

"Are you acquainted with Harold Whitney, Mrs. Avery?" I asked, and got a good report on his skills and reputation.

I had an urge to ask if she could recommend an aluminum siding contractor, but didn't think that Mrs. Avery was the type that would know I was pulling her leg. She got in her Volvo and drove off, seemingly happy with her purchase. 

The good thing that happened was that I found the key to the locked file cabinet. It was tucked away in a corner of the game table drawer. 

The file cabinet not only yielded the elusive checkbook. There were more stock certificates. I couldn't wait to give Paige the news. I couldn't shake the thought that she wanted to feel sand between her toes.



Distribution Ch. 06



Chapter 6: Gordon drops out

Paige called at three PM, saying the bus would arrive in about thirty minutes. I was there when the bus pulled in, and watched her appear on the steps, scan the crowd, and smile when she spotted me. Aside from her laptop, she had no luggage.

We hugged and I helped her into the cab of my truck. I filled her in on what had been happening on the way to the house.

"Charlie helped me move everything from the back of the house to the front. He has a cart that attaches to the back of his tractor so it only took a few trips. Nadine stopped by this morning, but she didn't stay long. She did say that she'll be back tomorrow."

"Didn't Gordon or Nancy show up?"

"They must have decided to take the day off."

"You and Charlie had to do all the work?" Paige asked, sounding perplexed. She was wearing a summer dress. She smiled when she saw me looking at the way she had one leg tucked under the other one, showing a bare knee. 

"It worked out fine. Nadine helped price some of the stuff before she left. Anyway, I had a visit from the Historical Preservation Society yesterday. She says we have to preserve the barn."

"No way!" Paige gasped. 

"I tried to tell her she was being unreasonable. I even told her that some of the beams are rotting, but that didn't faze her. She quoted a town by-law that gives her organization jurisdiction over what we do."

Paige looked a bit skeptic. "That's the first I've heard about rotting beams."

"That was an exaggeration. I wouldn't have let Charlie go into the loft if I'd seen any rot."

"That wasn't an exaggeration. Do you make a habit of lying to make a point?" she asked. Her expression told me that she found my fabrication humorous. 

"Just thinking how much it was going to cost to square up the barn was making me desperate. She says it was built in seventeen ninety-eight and must be preserved regardless of the cost."

"I want to read that by-law," Paige said, and I told her that Mrs. Avery had given me a copy along with the name of a contractor she recommended to do the work. 

She was amazed at how many yard-sale items were spread out along the driveway. "Will it be safe here?"

"Charlie is going to watch for trespassers. I told him that we're going out for a while."

"I'm sorry to drag you along tonight, Brian. Going to the church supper was the only way I could get him to change his vote, and I certainly wasn't going without you. It steams me that he and Nancy decided to take today off."

I opened the back door and followed her inside. "Actually, they gave me a break. They would have just gotten in the way. Charlie and I work well together."

"I'm going to have a word with them on Monday." 

"Surprise!" I said, holding up the key to the locked file cabinet for her to see. "I found it in the game table."

Paige jumped into my arms. "What would have happened if you didn't buy the game table?" she asked.

Her breasts were pressed into my chest, and I felt her hands on my shoulders. "I would have given up finding the key and drilled into the lock."

"Oh," she said, pulling away from me; obviously embarrassed for becoming excited about the key. 

I offered her the key to the cabinet, but she preferred to study the town by-law while I took a shower and got ready to go with her and Mr. McMahan to the church supper. All she said was, "We don't have much choice but to abide by their wishes," as we walked out to meet Mr. McMahan.

He introduced us to a lady in the backseat of his car as his mother. Mrs. McMahan's greeting could have turned a bucket of water into a giant ice cube. I held the back door open for Paige, but Mr. McMahan objected, saying that she had promised to go with him, and that she was to sit in the front with him. 

I watched a grin cross her face as she got into the front seat. Her good humor immediately canceled what could have caused me to sink into a bad mood. As if Paige's verdict regarding the strength of the by-law was not enough to set me off, Mr. McMahan's demand that she sit in the front seat infuriated me. Her amused acceptance that she was his date for the evening gave me the impression that she would be receptive to having some fun with it.

"You must be very proud of your son, Mrs. McMahan. He's worked hard to represent his church in the distribution of the Peoples' estate."

The lady's expression changed from vinegary to a sugar-coated response. "I've always been proud of Gordon. It's good to hear you commend him for being an upstanding, ethical representative for a cause that he believes in."

"I didn't say that, Mrs. McMahan. He may be upstanding, but do you consider changing his vote for a chance to take Ms. Kindle to a church supper ethical?"

Gordon McMahan's head swiveled to glare at me, and his face turned scarlet, making me wonder if his bow tie was choking him. 

"My son wouldn't do that. He's worked hard to make sure the church is not cheated out of its share of the estate," Mrs. McMahan said.

"Where were you today, Gordon?"

"I'm tired of taking orders from you. I've done my part," he said.

"Does that mean you won't be there to help out tomorrow?"

"It depends on how tonight goes," he said, glancing adoringly at Paige. 

What did he mean by that? I didn't respond because we had arrived at the church. He was quick to run around the car and open the passenger door. She turned to me and mouthed, 'stop goading him.' 

By the time I helped Mrs. McMahan out of the car and we walked ever so slowly down the basement steps, Gordon was introducing Paige to the churchgoers. She kept turning to look my way, shrugging helplessly. When she motioned for me I rushed to her side, leaving the old lady chatting with others her age. 

In the next fifteen minutes, I met the core members of the church. They all seemed to have a title, like deacon or pastor or director of an activity. They all spoke highly of Gordon McMahan; commending him for the splendid job he was doing in regard to the Peoples' estate. I would have loved to set them straight, but Paige's hand in mine, or her knee rubbing my leg warned me to let them think what they wanted to believe. 

Mrs. McMahan appeared, urging us to get in the serving line before all the food was gone. I reluctantly followed her, and looked back to see Gordon's hands on Paige's hips as if he were steering her through the crowded room. 

"I don't mind telling you that I'm opposed to my son becoming involved with that woman," Mrs. McMahan confided in me, just as one of the servers was asking if I wanted my potatoes scalloped or mashed. I spotted the gravy and elected to take the mashed potatoes.

Mrs. McMahan wasn't moving. We were holding up the serving line, but she had more to say. "I suppose you know that her husband was a gangster?"

"I've heard stories," I said. 

"I've warned him not to encourage her, but he's an easy mark for a widow with children. My son is too charitable for his own good."

"May I have some gravy on my potatoes?" I asked, and received a grateful nod from the server for making Mrs. McMahan see that she was holding up the line. I followed her to a table where her friends had saved two seats for us. 

I watched Paige follow Gordon to a nearby table, and take a seat next to him. After a prayer, I busied myself by remembering the names of Mrs. McMahan's friends. I even tolerated their praise for Gordon until I couldn't take any more. Someone, either Gordon or his mother, had elevated his role in the distribution committee to the lofty position of leader. I choked on the roast beef when I heard one of them say that Gordon gave the directions and the rest of us bowed to his authority. 

Paige had warned me to not goad Gordon, and I took that to mean that I was not to burst Mrs. McMahan's bubble regarding her estimation of her son's ability either. I bided my time until dessert was served, and then I offered to take the old ladies' trays to the window where the dishes were being collected for washing. 

Dessert was Indian pudding, but I didn't have a chance to finish mine because a constant stream of church officials wanted to shake my hand. They all began the same way.

"Mrs. Kindle tells me that you are largely responsible for keeping the ship on a steady course. We're grateful for the way Gordon has kept us appraised of the amount we're likely to receive, but I'd like to say that we appreciate your stewardship."

I responded to each of them with the same message, making my words clear and understandable, even to the hard of hearing. "I don't know what Gordon has told you, but had he reported for duty today, he would know that my estimates of the proceeds may be overstated. Had he come to help me prepare for tomorrow's yard sale, he would have heard the bad news. We may need to do extensive work on the old barn, and I have no way of knowing the cost at this time."

I only had to repeat my speech three times before word spread throughout the dining room; Gordon had not reported for duty that day and the church's share of the estate could go up in smoke. 

Mrs. McMahan disputed my account that her son had failed to do his part. I sympathized with her, saying that it was just as well that he wasn't there because I could use my time more effectively than by having to give him constant direction. She responded by saying that sweeping the basement floor was demeaning, inconsistent with her son's abilities. 

Paige was unusually talkative on the ride to the house. "That was fun. Did you have fun, Brian?"

"Yes, I had fun."

Mrs. McMahan and her son were uncharacteristically quiet. Gordon jumped out of the car and escorted Paige to the back door. I was helping Mrs. McMahan move from the back seat to the front when I heard the unmistakable sound of a slap.

"Sounds like she's rejecting his offer to be charitable," I observed, but Mrs. McMahan didn't respond.

"See you tomorrow, Brian," he said as we met on his way to the car, me on my way to the house. I placed my hand on his chest, stopping him.

"You changed your vote and she paid off by going with you to the church supper. That's the end of it. If I see your hand anywhere near her ass again, I'll open up the gap between your front teeth, got it?"

He didn't respond and I let him go. Paige was shaking when I got into the house. 

"The audacity of that idiot," she said. 

I opened my arms, and she came to me.

"I told him that you'd paid him in full for changing his vote, and that was the end of it."

"He's so dense. I had to slap him," she said, snuggling to me, like she couldn't get close enough. I rubbed her back. "I heard."

"You did?" she asked, pulling her head away to look at me.

I nodded and rubbed her back. She tucked her cheek against mine. 

"He put his hands on my ass," she whispered into my ear, like she was embarrassed to tell me and didn't want anyone else to hear.

"I know, and I made him understand that he is not to do that again."

"You did?" she asked as if she was surprised that I'd seen it or that I'd told him not to do it again, I wasn't sure which. I nodded, and felt her cheek move with mine. It was like we were attached.

"Brian, I need to explain something to you," she said, breaking our embrace and moving away.

We took seats at the kitchen table. I would have offered her something to drink if we had had anything, but the wine and beer were long gone. I watched closely, waiting for her to begin.

"I only called you once this week, not because I didn't want to talk to you or know how you were. I didn't trust myself. You see, I've been nagged by something and its better that I ask you in person."

"Ask me anything," I offered.

"Can I trust you to tell me the truth?"

What kind of question was that? Was she referring to the lie I'd admitted to telling to the preservation society lady about beams in the barn rotting? Surely, she wouldn't know about me telling some of the church members that if Gordon had shown up for duty that day he would have known that updating the barn was likely to cost a small fortune. That was technically a lie, too. He wouldn't know because I would not have told him.

"I'll be truthful. What's been nagging you?" I asked, hoping she would believe me.

"You said you were near marriage with Marian."

"I said we were talking about it."

"You said it would be a marriage of convenience?"

"That's right."

"You also said you are over her?"

"Correct."

"My question is this. Why would you considering marrying someone you didn't love?"

She sat quietly, giving me time to consider my answer. 

"Marian was good with my kids, and her position in the bank was going to be good for me. My friend thought it was the right thing for me to do. Even Mary accepted Marian. I guess I let all those things influence me."

Paige slammed her hand down on the table. "That doesn't answer my question. You're not the type that bows to others' suggestions. Why would you marry someone you didn't love?"

"We had feelings for each other."

"What does that mean? Was the sex so good that you could forego love?"

"I never found out about the sex. We were getting close, but it never happened."

"Look me in the eyes, Brian. Can I believe you?"

I looked her straight in the eye. She had to believe me, didn't she? She was looking away. I had to convince her that I was being forthright. 

"I guess I rationalized that I'd had love once. I loved one woman for six years and she'd loved me with all her heart and soul. That's more than some get, isn't it? I knew Marian would never take Peg's place in my heart, and I believe she knew it too. Anyway, she wasn't looking for security. She would have been content to have an affair, but I didn't want to bring another bastard into the world. I was the one holding out for marriage even though I knew we didn't love each other."

Paige was looking down at her hands, as if they held some mystical secret. She caught me looking at the clock on the stove.

"What?"

"I was wondering what time the liquor stores close."

"Brian, we have to get up early in the morning."

"Come on, we'll find a bar that's still serving."

I could tell that she wanted to give in and go with me. "Brian, don't look at me that way."

"How am I looking at you?"

"You're using your convincing look," she said, getting up and taking my hand.

We found a cocktail lounge that was next door to a motel. Most of the customers looked like they were transients. We ordered whiskey sours and danced to a slow song. 

"Did you dance this way with Peggy?"

"Close?"

"Yes, did you hold her close the way you're holding me?"

We sat down to finish our drinks, and I told Paige about my first date with Peg, how she pretended to be my girlfriend, and how we'd convinced my co-workers that we were a couple. "She was a terrible tease," I said, and watched Paige's eye glisten.

A guy approached us, asking Paige to dance with him. She smiled, and said that we were just leaving. "I need to take my guy home before he falls asleep," she told him.

I would have liked to order a second drink, but I yielded to her wishes.

We were just inside the door when she turned and kissed me. It was a brief, friendly kiss. 

"Thank you for going with me to the church supper."

"It was nothing," I said, and received another kiss, longer than the first.

"Thank you for telling Gordon to keep his hands off of my ass."

"It was a pleasure," I said, and felt her lips press into mine, ardently. I kissed her back.

"Thank you for telling me about Marian."

"Thank you for believing me," I said, bracing to be rewarded with a kiss. It didn't come. She pulled her head back, and looked at me.

"I do believe you."

Again, I waited, but she held her ground.

"I think," she said, doubt creeping into her voice. "Goodnight."

Stunned, I watched her run up the stairs. 

We got up early, but not before the first car stopped in front of the house. The signs were not up yet, and I hadn't moved my truck to the street. I had a strong yearning for a cup of coffee. We'd taken in one hundred and fifty dollars before Nadine parked her car in front of the house and strolled up the driveway. She and Paige were dressed alike in jeans and T-shirts. I was wearing the same clothes I'd worn to the church supper. The absence of Gordon and Nancy didn't bother me. There was never a time that we were shorthanded, but Charlie came to our aid a few times, helping customers carry their purchases to their cars or urging us to take a break. 

"Has he taken Uncle Mackey's tools?" Paige asked.

"Not yet. He's leaving them for me to use until we get the house ready for sale."

"He really is a treasure," she said, and I agreed, shuddering to think about how close I'd come to telling him to get lost when he eavesdropped on our first meeting. 

At six PM, we'd sold seventy-five percent of the junk we had offered for sale, and had taken in just over fifteen hundred dollars counting the sale of the harness maker's bench from the day before. 

We loaded everything into Charlie's wagon, and he left it parked behind the basement door. 

"Would you guys like to come over for dinner?" Nadine asked.

Paige looked at me and wiggled her nose in a way that I took to mean no. "Nadine, you look as tired and dirty as we do. If we had more than two chairs we would invite you guys to have dinner with us."

"You poor dears," Nadine said, looking painfully sympathetic. 

"We have to stand up to make out," Paige said, blushing when she realized what she'd said. 

"You don't even have a bed, do you?"

Paige shook her head. "We sleep on the floor."

"I'm going to see to it that you get a loaner," Nadine said, sounding positive, like she had a bed in mind that she could loan us.

"Don't get the wrong idea. We'd need two beds. We're not sleeping together." 

"Yet," Nadine said, getting in the last word as she walked to her car.

I offered to take Paige out to eat, but she said she was anxious to see what was in the file cabinet drawers. I showered quickly, and went out to pick up pizza and beer. 

We sat across the kitchen table from each other and had pizza and beer. I was pretty sure there was something on her mind, but we didn't talk about anything serious. 

After devouring most of the pizza, she went upstairs to investigate the contents of the file cabinet. I stayed downstairs to make phone calls and answer email.

Amanda said she was already bored with school and Phillip agreed with her, saying that he was bored too. I urged them to stay alert in school and told them that good things would come from it. Neither one of them mentioned Marian and I didn't either. I'd told Paige the truth; I was over Marian. 

Ginny's email was full of references to her boyfriend. 'Randy goes to school and works crazy hours so I don't get to see him as much as I would like. Say, when are you going to finish that nasty job and go home to your kids? Amanda's a little grownup and Phillip is a sweetie. How did you let Mom and Dad trick you into doing their dirty work? Did I tell you that Randy is younger than me?' 

I answered her email, repeating what I always said. 'Thanks for taking such an interest in Amanda and Phillip. Don't worry about Mom and Dad exerting their will on me. You're welcome at our house whenever you can come. Bring Randy with you.'

I looked at the clock before dialing Henrietta's number. The café would be open, but I took a chance that she'd be able to spare a few minutes to chat.

"Where have you been, big boy? I've got news for you."

"You sound unusually chipper tonight. What's the news?"

"This is not first hand, but there's been another sighting. One of my customers said he saw Marian getting into one of the Leach brothers' cars."

"Which one?"

"That's just it. They not only look alike, but they dress alike and they have identical cars. I assume it was Mark's car. He's the single one, right?"




Distribution Ch. 06



"Yeah, Max is married."

"Then it had to me Mark, right?"

"Right. You saw her coming out of the loft where he lives, and now she got in his car. It makes no difference. I told Paige that I'm over her."

I heard Henrietta clear her throat. "Ahem, now it's Paige."

"We had a serious talk last night. I leveled with her about everything."

"Everything?"

"Well, no, I didn't tell her about Georgia, but I was very candid about what Peggy and I had together."

"Did you tell her about me?"

"Not in so many words."

"How many words does it take? If you're going to level with her, tell her there's a black chick with thick lips and legs that go on forever, who's crazy about you."

"How should I describe your tits?"

"Say that you don't know because you've never had them in your hands."

"That will never do. We've already got a believability problem."

"If you must say something, tell her that I'm well-endowed, not like melons, more like two grapefruits." 

"Why do I have trouble believing you?"

"Okay, they're more like oranges, but that's still in the citrus family, isn't it?"

"I always pictured them as two fried eggs, sunny-side up."

"Maybe so, but you'd still like to break the yokes, wouldn't you?"

"You're making me hot."

"It was nice talking to you, Brian. I've got to go change my panties now."

I was wondering if this was a good time to call John when Paige came downstairs. "Have you looked up the prices of the stock in the cabinet?" she asked.

"Yes, it amounts to at least tow hundred thousand more."

"We've got to seek the advice of someone we trust. How do you feel about Nadine's husband?" Page asked. I couldn't help but admire the way her eyes were fixed on mine, like she was seeing me for the first time. 

"The newlywed at our table held him in high regard, and Nadine seems to be sold on him. They couldn't both be wrong."

"Brian, the kid at our table was drinking his wine and eating his lobsters. He wasn't going to say anything negative about his boss, and Nadine sleeps with him. Naturally, she's sold on him. I want to know what you think about him. Did he strike you as someone we can trust?"

"Frankly, I got a funny feeling about him, but that was under stressful circumstances. He wanted to make sure his guests were being taken care of. In fairness to Nadine, I think we should meet privately with them."

"What did you mean by being fair to Nadine?"

"She was a real trooper today. She was still joking around after working ten hours."

"We could take her up on her offer to go to their house for dinner. Is next weekend all right with you?"

"No, it should be on our turf. We could take them out to a nice restaurant or we could borrow two chairs and invite them here for dinner."

"I'll call her tomorrow and invite them for dinner next weekend. I'll cook. It will be fun."

She took a seat across the table from me. I could tell that she was going to change the subject.

"Brian, about last night."

"I know what you're going to say."

"You do?"

"Yes, you're going to admit that you shouldn't have doubted me, that you believe everything I say, and you're sorry."

"That's not it at all," she said, sounding exasperated with me.

"It's not?"

"It had been a long, stressful day. I meant it when I thanked you for going with me, and for telling Gordon to keep his hands off me, but those were not good reasons to kiss you. I wanted to show my appreciation, and I got carried away. I want you to know that it won't happen again."

"It won't?"

"Brian, two weeks ago we were total strangers. Only two weeks ago, you had a girlfriend. Now, I find out that you're over her. I'd be crazy to let it happen again."

"What if I saved your life? Would you kiss me?"

She looked at me with a mixture of pity and mirth in her eyes. "That would be different."

"Why did you hug me when I met your bus yesterday?"

"I was glad to see you."

It was evident to me that Paige was torn between coming around the table and taking a seat on my lap and telling me to forget that she existed. I had an urge to tell her that we were falling for each other, but I knew better than to push it. "I was glad to see you, too."

"Goodnight, Brian," she said, and I watched her ascend the stairs. 

At breakfast, we discussed our plans for the day. Paige said she was going to catch up on the meeting minutes, admitting that she'd need me to help her remember when we'd voted on certain motions. 

I told her that I was going to start filming the automobile parts and the military memorabilia items. 

Charlie helped me carry the large crates into the house, and we selected six of the automobile parts to offer on eBay. I used a sheet as a backdrop, and filmed each item.

Paige looked up from her computer screen at the way the crates occupied a large part of the living room. "It's a good thing that I don't sleepwalk," she said. 

"Does that mean you'll be wide awake when you come downstairs to visit me?"

"Brian, I'm serious. My great-uncle was married to your great-aunt. That's as far as it goes. Otherwise, we hardly know each other."

"You're right, Paige. I'll stop pursuing you before one of us gets hurt."

"Or both of us are hurt," she corrected me before returning her attention on her computer screen. 

She looked at the photos I'd taken and the description of each item while I looked over her account of the meeting minutes. 

"What's on the agenda for the Monday morning meeting? I'd like to make some notes to follow," she said.

"I'll distribute a financial report to show the receipts and expenses. I paid the bill for Aunt Elsie's funeral expenses. It may be best to let Nadine report on the outcome of the yard sale. She'll make it sound like Gordon and Nancy missed a good time. 

"You'll call upon me to give the status of the requests for bids, and I'll slip Mrs. Avery's visit in, painting a dim picture of what complying with her wishes to preserve the barn may cost. 

"I suppose we should apprise the group about our plans to interview Fred Meriwether regarding the timing of the sale of the stock. I'd also like to hire Harold Whitney for a day of consultation."

"Why?"

"I want to see what he knows about the guy Sarah Avery recommends to do the work on the barn. I also want to get his advice on replacing the windows and painting the exterior. He may have other suggestions as to how to make the old house more appealing to the buyer."

"How much is this likely to cost?"

"I'll offer him three hundred dollars for the day. He would probably do it for nothing, but he's more likely to be candid with me if he's being paid. Anyway, we agreed that he needs the work."

Paige finished making her notes and looked at me. "It sounds like we just had our meeting. I agree with everything you've said. All the votes carry by a vote of eighty-eight to whatever. I guess that means that I can pack up and catch the next bus." "Not so fast. You need to be here for the Monday morning meeting, even if we're the only ones that attend."

"I was just kidding. What about making the first distribution?"

"One of the bank notes is coming due next week, but I'd like to see how much the barn is going to cost before we commit to making a distribution. If it's as reasonable as I'm hoping, we can distribute one hundred thousand as soon as the funds hit the account."

"That should make everyone happy. I know my parents will be pleased," she said. 

We busied ourselves with telephoning and emailing our friends and relatives. It was becoming dusk before either of us got hungry. I suggested that we go for burgers, and Paige reluctantly went with me. 

I guess we were tired of discussing the estate, and we both wanted to avoid the subject of where her great-uncle and my great-aunt ended and our mutual attraction for each other began.

Paige brought up the subject of college and we traded stories until long after our food was gone. She'd had a college romance, which she spoke about in great detail. "It ended badly," she lamented.

"Mine did too," I said, and that led to more questions than I wanted to answer. In the end, I told her that Samantha had driven me away, and that was a good thing because I met Peggy, her daughter and her parents. 

"Being hurt is no fun, is it?" she asked, and I got the hidden meaning. She didn't want either of us to get hurt.

The Monday morning meeting only took fifteen minutes. Nadine voted with us. All motions carried by a vote of ninety-one to zip. She was especially happy to accept Paige's invitation to have dinner with us the following Saturday evening. 

As the meeting was about to break up, I mentioned that I was going to try my hand at offering the auto parts for sale on eBay. Nadine spoke up, saying that she'd had some experience with eBay and offered to enter the few items I'd selected to try. 

We left Nadine to her task and I took Paige to the bus station. She was dressed for work, and carried her laptop. Just before she stepped on the bus, she turned and touched her lips to mine, briefly. I was telling her to have a safe trip when she jumped into my arms and gave me a fierce kiss. 

"I'll call you tonight," she said as she boarded the bus.

I checked on Nadine before I started my daily routine. She looked up from Uncle Mackey's computer. 

"It looks like we're widowed for the week. You know where I live if you get lonely some night," she offered.

"Doesn't Fred come home at night?"

"No, he leaves on Monday morning and comes back on Friday afternoon. He has a condominium in the city," she said, watching for my reaction through sultry eyes.

"I'll keep that in mind," I lied.

"You do that!"



Distribution Ch. 07



Chapter 7 Meeting Paige's family

When Paige called at nine PM, I'd made my calls, and had given up on hearing from her. I reported that the quotations for the water hookup were arriving; I'd spoken to Harold Whitney about the consulting job, and Charlie and I had moved the crates out of the living room. 

"Brian?"

"Yes, Paige."

"I didn't follow any of what you just said. You'll need to keep notes. Anyway, that's not what I want to talk about."

"Okay," I said, feeling very confused. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Are you sure you're over Marian?"

"I'm sure."

"It's only been three weeks."

"Three weeks is long enough. Being separated from her has made me realize that we had very little between us. Anyway, it didn't take her long to move on. I have it on good authority that she's seeing one of my tenants."

"What if she calls again?"

"I'll tell her that I've met someone."

Paige abruptly hung up and I cursed myself for saying the wrong thing. When she called the following night I reported that I'd met with Matthew Dawkins about the barn. "Harold was here. He asked some probing questions that I would never have considered. Matthew wants everything out of the barn so he can get a better look at the structure. I agreed to move the auto parts to the basement, but I told him he will have to work around the antique cars. I don't want to be rushed into advertising them for sale."

"Brian?"

"Yes, Page."

"What you said about meeting someone. Was that someone me by any chance?"

"Of course it's you."

"You only met me three weeks ago."

"It's been three weeks and two days since we met. That's as long as it took Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie to fall in love. As a matter of fact, they were already making love."

"That's a ridiculous analogy. They were young and it was wartime."

"I'm not suggesting that we're on the same track as Mackey and Elsie were. You have to admit though, that we hit it off from the beginning, and we get along well."

"Not from the beginning," she corrected me. Paige ended the call before I could ask her what was going through her mind when we'd first met.

On Wednesday night I reported that the eBay bidding was going better than I'd expected. "I visited one of those pack and ship places today. The owner got excited when I told him how many items we're offering for sale."

"I hope you're keeping notes of your activities. My mind wanders when we talk on the phone."

"Paige, I look forward to your calls. I plan what I'm going to report."

"Are you holding anything back, Brian?"

"Most of what I do would bore you. For instance, Harold is going to stop by tomorrow and we're going to outline everything that we're going to have done. I want a detailed plan to show the lady from the preservation society."

"May I ask you a personal question?" she asked, like she had not been paying attention to a word I'd said.

"Sure."

"Promise that you won't laugh?"

"I promise."

"Did you get sweaty today?"

"A little bit. I helped Charlie trim the shrubbery around the gazebo. Why do you ask if I got sweaty?"

"Did you shower?"

"Yes."

"What are you wearing?"

"Why do you need to know what I'm wearing?"

"Humor me. What do you have on right now?"

"I'm not going to tell you until I know why you need to know."

"I want to close my eyes and picture you. I need to know what you have on."

"Okay, I'll give you a complete picture. I'm sitting in Uncle Mackey's chair, re-reading a letter from Aunt Elsie. I'm wearing a pair of cut-off sweatpants. That's all."

"That's all? No shirt, no shoes?"

"That's right."

"Hmmm, I'm having trouble picturing you because I've never seen you with a bare chest."

"Yes, you have. Remember the day I played volleyball on the beach?"

"Hmmm, you're right. I get the picture now. But you didn't take off your shoes that day."

"Believe me; you wouldn't want to look at my bare feet tonight. The reason I'm not wearing shoes is that I stubbed my toe on one of those damned crates in the back room."

I heard her giggle. "Why are you re-reading the letters?"

"I remembered something that Aunt Elsie wrote. I have it here: 'I hope you won't hate me, Mackey, but I've done something without asking your permission. I sent your description of the fighting on the island to the local newspaper, and guess what, my Sweet? The editor published it. He called me first, and I couldn't say no. He says you're a fine writer and wants to see you when you come home. Please don't be angry with me, my Darling.'"

"I recall reading that passage. I'm just realizing that they fell in love in a very short time and the letters strengthened their love for each other. Read some more please." 

"I haven't found his reaction to her apology, but it's obvious that he forgave her. I'm looking for the letter where she told him that she was abstracting the parts from his letters where he told about helping the other patients in the ward. She went so far as to say that she would like to use them in a book. She even suggested a name for the book, 'Tales from Ward C.'"

"Do you think it was ever published?"

"I don't know. I'll search the web tomorrow to see what I can find."

"I'll call you tomorrow. I can't wait to know more," she said, ending the call in such a hurried fashion that it made me wonder if she was all right.

Her call came earlier on Thursday night. I had lots to report, but first, I had to tell her what I was wearing. 

"I covered my chest with a T-shirt, and my feet with sneakers." 

"That's not very interesting," she said, dismissively. "Tell me about the book. Did you have any luck?'

"No luck whatsoever. I searched Mackey's name and got lots of hits about his newspaper work and the magazine articles he's written, but there was nothing about a book. I'm wondering if it was published under a different name or if he used a penname."

"I was thinking that it might be a fun thing for us to do together."

"What? Put a book together out of the old couple's letters?"

"Exactly. We could divide the research and the writing."

How did she think we would have the time to research and write a book? Didn't she know how busy I was? Did she have more spare time than I knew about? I was even more convinced that it would be impossible to find the time when she told me that she would arrive late the next evening. 

"We'll stop for dinner," I suggested, and was happy to hear her response.

"Okay, that will be nice," she said before saying goodbye.

It was nearing seven PM on Friday night, and I was becoming concerned that I hadn't heard from Paige. When she did call, I was ready to let her have it.

"We're thirty minutes away," she said.

"There are going to be some changes. First, I want your cell phone number, and second, I want to know what's kept you. Tonight is going to be my night to ask the questions and it's your turn to supply the answers."

"Brian, why are you being short with me? I warned you that it would be late tonight. I could have waited until tomorrow or Sunday to come, but I wanted to..."

"You wanted to what?" I asked, calming down.

"I guess I missed you, but now that you're being dictatorial, I'm not so sure."

"Paige, I've been a perfect gentleman. I haven't pried into your personal life and I've let you dictate the pace. Hell, I've only been in the room you occupy that one time when we were listing the furniture for the silent auction. I'm warning you; tonight is going to be different. I'm going to ask the questions for a change."

Other that the roar of the bus in the background, I heard nothing. When she didn't hang up, I asked, "Did you really miss me?"

"Brian, I have something to confess," she said, side-stepping my question. 

Her soft voice quieted me. I pictured her lips moving, the wrinkle in her brow, and the way she set her eyes when she was making a point. 

"I'll be waiting when the bus arrives," I said, thinking that we were ending the call.

"WAIT!"

"I'm still here."

"I did miss you," she said before I heard the line fade out.

It was obvious by the way she was dressed that she'd come directly from work. She didn't jump from the steps and run into my arms as I expected. Instead, she walked slowly, her eyes in contact with mine, and she didn't crack a smile until she was within arm's length. 

I pulled her to me, and our kiss was intense for a few seconds, until she pulled away. "Take your hands off of my ass. People will talk."

We laughed about her assertion on the way to my truck because my hands had not been near her ass. I took her to an Italian restaurant and was sorry that I hadn't chosen a quieter place.

It was not only noisy, it was crowded, and our table was not in the best location. Although I'd warned her that this was my night to ask the questions, I let her begin.

"I had an affair," she said after the waiter had taken our orders. Naturally, I wanted to know more, when it took place, for how long, and if it was over. She supplied those answers without my having to ask. She had to lean forward to be heard.

"It was a year ago. I guess I was feeling sorry for myself and felt the affair was something I wanted. It only went on for a few weeks. Russell found out about it and broke it up. I wasn't sorry to end it because I had no feelings for the guy."

"Why did you think you had to tell me?" I asked, wondering at that moment if I should tell her about Georgia."

"It's my way of explaining why I've been cautious about...us."

"I never thought that you were being cautious. Actually, asking me what I was wearing was kind of racy. That will be something to tell our grandchildren."

She was holding a wine glass, but set it down. "Brian, you make me nervous. We're not Mackey and Elsie. This isn't a race. You're not heading off to a Pacific Island."

"That's true, but I'm only here for a limited amount of time."

"How long?" she asked, concern showing in her eyes.

"Once the construction work is completed, we can put the house on the market. We can make decisions via e-mail, and I can make the distributions to the heirs from my home."

"Don't forget about the stock."

"I've been thinking about that. I believe we should give Fred a sample of the stock tomorrow night."

"How did we get off on the estate? Is it the only interest we have in common?"

"God! I hope not," I said, and watched her take a sip of wine.

Our meal was served. The food was delicious, but very filling. We talked very little, but laughed constantly. We got the attention of the people at the next table when we traded bites of food.

"Are you celebrating a wedding anniversary?" one of the ladies asked.

"Yes, how many years do you think we've been married?" Paige asked, winking at me.

"Ten years?" the lady asked.

"That's right. We were married ten years ago," Paige said, and the two couples congratulated us. They offered to buy us a drink, but Paige said that we were going to have coffee and go home, implying that she couldn't wait to get me into bed. 

I was bothered by what she'd said about us only having one thing in common. 

"We're both widowed with children," I offered as I helped her into my truck.

"We have the letters," she reminded me.

I found myself wanting to add to the list of things we had in common, but couldn't come up with anything else.

Paige went directly to her room and returned a few minutes later with a radio, wanting to dance. She'd changed into short pants, sneakers and a T-shirt. I took my shoes off and danced in my stocking feet. 

"I was negotiating a lease with someone on the west coast. He didn't realize how late it was getting," she said, explaining the reason she'd taken a later bus. 

"I thought you may have stopped at home," I said.

"I caught the first bus out and called my home. Does that tell you how anxious I was to see you?"

We were dancing at arms length, talking casually. "Do you think we have a physical attraction for each other?"

"You're still hung up on what we have in common, aren't you?"

"I am," I admitted.

"Okay, here's a compatibility test. Rate the following as they apply to a relationship; sex, looks, and common interests."

I stopped dancing and looked at her. "Are you saying to rate them in order of importance?"

"Yes."

"You hope that having sex with an attractive person will be as good as they look to you, but it doesn't always work out that way. The same goes for having sex with someone with common interests. I guess that I would place good sex first, regardless of how the person looks or if they have common interests. However, the lack of common interests could make great sex less important."

"Did you just change your mind about sex being number one?"

"No, good sex wins out every time."

Paige kissed me, and was halfway to the stairs before I stopped her.

"Hey, how did I do?"

"I don't know. I'll need to think about what you said."

We didn't discuss my rating of sex, looks and common interests again until Sunday night, Monday morning really. We started the day at the kitchen table, scouring the letters for mentions of Mackey helping other wounded veterans in Ward C. It took all morning to transcribe those parts of the letters, but when we were finished, we agreed that there was not enough for a book. 

"It's going to take more research to expand on each story, such as what happened to the people Mackey helped," Paige said. 

"There's also the love angle. Perhaps we could make it into a romance," I said, and was met with a shake of her head, as if to say that I was making too much of the letters. 

After lunch, Paige wanted to go shopping, and while she was selecting the ingredients for the meal she was going to serve that night, I went to the wine shop next door. 

Our guests were to arrive at seven PM, and the aroma coming from the kitchen was so appealing that I wondered if I would be able to resist sampling the dinner. Good cooking was running a close second to good sex on my compatibility preference chart.

Nadine wanted to take Fred on a tour of the house as soon as they arrived. His footsteps seemed to make the floors creak more that usual, until he got to Uncle Mackey's room. 

"Did a hurricane go through that room?" he asked when they returned to the first floor.

I laughed, and told him that Uncle Mackey had been a writer. "I get the impression that he knew where everything was. I try not to disturb anything." 

Fred had brought two bottles of expensive wine, which I opened first. By the time I opened the wine I'd picked out, no one knew the difference. 

We all told Paige that the meal was exceptional. She humbly accepted our praise, looking fondly at me as she said that I'd supplied her inspiration. 

I don't know if we'd run out of conversation material or if it was the wine, but Paige began talking about the letters between Uncle Mackey and Aunt Elsie. Recalling that she'd specifically cited the letters as something we had in common, I joined in, and we were soon talking about the book we had in mind to write. 

Our exuberance about the subject must have bored Fred, but Nadine became caught up in how Mackey had managed to help nearly every other soldier in the ward. 

I'll have to give Fred credit though. Not once did he mention the stock that we were going to sell. Even when, at the end of the evening, he accepted the list of twenty stocks that I handed him, pocketing it without a word. The stocks I'd selected represented about twenty percent of the total, and were for companies that I'd scarcely heard of before. 

Paige was agreeable to my suggestion that we leave the cleanup until the next morning. I escorted her up the stairs and into her room. She turned, and I took her into my arms. 

"Brian," she said, interrupting our kiss. "You have your hand on my butt."

"Oh, sorry, I'll remove it," I said, making no move to lift my hand from her ass.

"No don't, I like having it there, just for a minute, and then you have to leave."

Was this a test? I kept my hand on her ass for exactly sixty seconds before removing it and ending our kiss.

"Goodnight," I said, backing toward the door.

"Goodnight," she said.

I awoke to hear her in the kitchen. She laughed when I apologized for not helping to put things back in order. On the table was a steaming cup of coffee and a piece of paper that contained her cell phone number. 

"Don't call me during working hours," she cautioned.

"What if I have an insatiable desire to talk to you?"

Her frown quickly changed to a smile. "Leave a message. I'll call you back as soon as I can."

"How will I know when you're working?"

"You won't. I freelance for three small law firms, and work when they call me. Right now, I'm booked every day but Fridays for the next two weeks. That's the day that I work for a manufacturing company."

"Thank you for clearing that up for me."

"You have every right to know everything about me. I feel that I can ask you anything, right?"

"Right," I answered, wondering when it would be a good time to tell her about Georgia.

We talked about the best way to research the stories we'd extracted from the letters. I came up with the idea of putting Mackey's work experience in chronological order. We took turns surfing the web and discovered that he had worked 38 years for four newspapers between nineteen-forty-nine and nineteen-eighty-seven when he retired. The four newspapers were in addition to the small hometown paper where he'd gotten his start after being discharged from the Army. 

"Tracking down the men he helped would add immensely to the stories," Paige suggested.

I agreed with her, but doubted that we would find any of them alive after all these years. There were only ten surnames given. Uncle Mackey had referred to the others by their nickname or the bunk number they occupied in the ward.

Nadine called to say that she and Fred had had a good time. She promised to be on time for the Monday morning meeting, adding that Fred would be leaving early, and she knew that Paige would want to catch an early bus.

Paige was so encouraged by the way our evening had gone that she suggested that we invite the Whitneys to dine with us the following Saturday. I'd seen how much effort she'd expended to prepare the meal, but I'd also seen her enthusiasm, and didn't try to persuade her to wait a week or so. She telephoned Janice and received a positive response to the invitation.

After our late night, we settled for a snack and went to bed early.

I have no idea what time it was when I was awakened. 

"Brian?'

I became aware that I'd been rolled onto my back, and her upper body was sprawled on top of mine. She felt warm and soft and feather-light, all at the same time. 

"Paige?"

"Where do you place trust on the compatibility chart?"

"Trust?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't change positions. My cock was at attention, not two inches from her hip.

"I trust you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Put your hand on my ass. I want to show you that I trust you."

"Paige, I want you to trust me, but this may not be a good idea," I said, moving my hand to her ass.

"Leave your hand there while you tell me where trust ranks on the compatibility chart."

"I have a confession," I said.

"I knew it!" She moved quickly, pushing my hand to the side, and jumping to her feet. "I knew you were hiding something. You even said that you'd done things that you were not proud of. I wanted to believe the best about you, but now I see that I've been wrong."

She left me there, hard and awake. I got up to look at the clock on the stove. It was two-thirty-seven AM on Monday moaning.

Nadine noticed immediately that there was something wrong between us. Paige asked me to report, and when I asked for clarification, she said to report on anything I wanted. I gave the winning bids for some of the automobile parts, adding that I would be making shipments that day, and we would offer new items for sale. 




Distribution Ch. 07



Just as Paige was adjourning the meeting, I saw Gordon McMahan drive by the house in his car. 

I tried to explain what I'd meant by having something to confess as we drove to the bus station. She shushed me, saying that she would hear my confession the following week.

Nadine became so frustrated with my zombie-like mood that she left, saying she would return the next day. 

"Come to dinner tonight. You shouldn't be trusted near a stove," she said.

I thanked her, saying that I had no intentions of cooking anything.

Aside from delivering the items to the pack and ship, I accomplished nothing that day. That afternoon, I tried to take a nap, but found that I couldn't go to sleep until much later.

I had no idea what time it was when the ringing telephone woke me. It was dark in the room, and I still had my clothes on. I stumbled to the light switch, saw that it was nine-thirty and splashed cold water on my face before answering the phone. 

"Brian, I've got to know what you did."

My confession took over a half hour to tell. I didn't try to sugarcoat it. I skipped over what a jerk Curtis had been, and I hardly mentioned Georgia's need. I painted myself as the greedy one, nearly broke and desperate to stay afloat. 

"I was surprised when it worked. She forgave one month's mortgage payment, and I've never done anything like that since."

"I want so badly to be able to trust you," Paige said, sounding really confused. 

"There's someone I'd like for you to talk to. This would be a good time. She'll be at home, having a nightcap before bed."

"I don't know, Brian. You're taking a big risk, you know? If I catch her in a lie it will be the end of us."

I gave her Henrietta's telephone number, urging her to make the call. 

As we hung up, I was proud of myself for not resorting to telling her how I'd turned Doris Kelley down. 

I fully expected my phone to ring, but I went back to sleep, not knowing if she'd called Henrietta or not. 

'

Nadine came early and we had breakfast together before she entered the next group of items to be auctioned.

Charlie and I built some makeshift shelving and tables to store the auto parts in the basement. I told him how well we'd done on the first group, venturing to say that we'd do better once our customers submitted positive reports about their experience with us.

I never found out what was said during their conversation, Henrietta refused to tell me, but the change that came over Paige was extraordinary. Her questions were probing, her answers particular, and her patience painstaking. I looked forward to the telephone calls. We talked about our day, our plans for the weekend, and we discussed sex often. 

Like most subjects, Paige was pragmatic regarding sex. Once I discovered that she was willing to talk about it, I peppered her with questions.

Frequency: "Not every day, but often enough to keep the embers burning."

Duration: "All afternoon if possible, certainly long enough to drain us, physically."

Preferences: "I'll try almost anything once. You'll know if I want to do it again." 

Protection: "I'm taking measures."

She left no doubt that we were going to begin having sex, and soon. Was she searching for another thing that we had in common?

On Wednesday evening I told her about a visit I'd had that day from a reporter from the local newspaper. 

"Nadine told her about the letters."

"Was she cute?" Paige asked.

Why was she asking if the reporter was cute? I wanted to tell her that I'd shown the lady the research I'd been doing.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that she's cute." 

"Is she coming back?"

"She volunteered to contact the four newspapers where Mackey worked. She said that she'll be back when she has their responses. She wants to do an article about him and Elsie."

"So...she's coming back?"

"Paige, she wants to meet you. I told her you'll be here this weekend."

"What did you tell her about me?" she asked, sounding suspicious.

"I told her about your piercing eyes, and how I get weak-kneed when you look across the breakfast table at me. I told her about your smile, and how it captivates me. I told her about your lips, and how I long to feel them pressed against mine."

"Brian, please stop, you're making me blush."

"I told her about your dainty feet, your shapely legs, and about the way it makes my spine tingle when you place your hand in mine. I told her that being near you drives me crazy. It makes me want to hold you, to touch you, and kiss you."

"Did you tell her about my ass?"

"Yes, I told her it's just the right shape, that I like to put my hand on it, and you like it, too."

"Did you tell her that we're going to make love this weekend?"

"Yes, I told her that I'm looking forward to this weekend."

"Good! I'm glad you made it clear that you are my turf."

"Paige, Miss Adams is in her early forties and wore a pants suit that was two sizes too small for her. She's a nice lady, but I assure you that your turf is safe."

"You didn't mean those things you said about me," she said in a pouting tone.

"On the contrary; I meant everything."

I could only hope that she believed me. On Thursday, it was as if she'd never doubted me. She was in high spirits, wanting to hear about the shipments I'd been making and how my research was going. She said she hoped to catch an early bus the next day. 

When the telephone rang on Friday, I expected her to tell me that the bus was due to arrive in thirty minutes. I was disappointed.

"Brian, I scored tickets to tonight's game. You've simply got to go with us."

It took a minute to comprehend what she was saying. "Tonight's game, go with us?"

"Don't you follow sports? The Red Sox are headed for the playoffs. They're great tickets. Do you have a pencil? I'll give you directions."

I copied the directions she gave me, where to get off the expressway, the streets I would take to get to her parent's home, and where I could park my truck in back of their house. She made me read the directions back to her before she told me to dress warmly. 

Dress warmly? It was the end of September, but I was still wearing short pants around the house. I dug out the sweater that I'd asked Amanda to pack for me, locked the house, and headed for Boston.

Ten minutes into my trip, I remembered the first distribution check and went back for it. 

Her question, 'did I follow sports?' haunted me. Was she searching for something else that we had in common? I remembered that the Red Sox had won the World Series in two thousand four, and knew they were destined for the playoffs this year, but I didn't follow any sports team closely. 

What Paige had said should be an hour and a half trip took me somewhat longer. As I entered the neighborhood, I saw that the houses were mainly brownstones, built attached to one another. The narrow alley was exactly as Paige had said it would be. An older man and a boy were standing next to the open gate. The man motioned for me to drive through the gate, and to park on the strip of grass that comprised the entire backyard. 

Mr. Peoples told me to lock my truck. He walked with a slight limp and chose his words carefully, making me wonder if he'd suffered a stroke. We shook hands, and he introduced his grandson to me. Pat was a heavyset kid, good-natured, but shy. He wore a Red Sox cap, and freckles were clustered on his cheeks.

Mrs. Peoples was a vibrant woman. Her expressions, the way she emphasized certain words. Her smile made me think of Paige, who was obviously missing. 

"Paige will be here soon. This is Mona," Mrs. Peoples said.

The girl had obviously been instructed to be hospitable. She stepped forward, smiled and extended her hand. "Grandma told me to curtsey, but I've outgrown that," she said, sounding apologetic. 

"Your smile is better than a curtsey. It's your Mom's smile," I said and was rewarded with a wide grin. Her eyes were a darker shade of gray than Paige's, but her smile really did remind me of her mother. Unlike her brother, Mona was slim and her freckles were all but gone.

Her obligatory welcome out of the way, Mona excused herself.

"Stay off of the computer, Dear. We're eating at five-thirty, even if your mother isn't home. She wants to leave for the ballpark at six," Mrs. Peoples said to her granddaughter. 

"What are we having?" Pat asked. 

"Hot dogs and beans, but your mother said your limit is two hot dogs."

Paige got home just as Pat and I were putting mustard and relish on our second hot dogs. She came into the dining room, made the rounds to kiss everyone, complained that I tasted like mustard, and ran upstairs to change her clothes. 

We were ready to leave when she saw that I was going out the door wearing the sweater. "Don't you have a coat?" 

"I didn't know I was going to be here this long," I said.

"We'll stop on the way and get you one."

"Mom, we'll be late," Pat complained, but Paige's mind was made up. 

We walked the three blocks to the subway station and rode to Downtown Crossing where Paige quickly picked out a coat that would keep me warm. 

The subway car was crowded and we had to stand and hang onto a pole during our ride to Fenway Park. We got there just as the game was beginning, but it took several minutes for us to be seated. 

Paige placed her son next to me, saying that it would be for three innings, after which Mona would sit next to me and she would be my seatmate for the final three innings. Mona rolled her eyes; like she didn't share her mother's eagerness to sit next to me for three innings.

Pat was anxious to impart his familiarity with the players and his knowledge of the game. He seemed particularly fond of the bench player, making me wonder if he rode the bench in little league. 

"What position do you play?" I asked.

"I like to catch, but coach makes me play in the outfield."

"That's where I played," I offered, trying to make him feel better. "I was a switch-hitting outfielder."

He looked skeptical. "You were a switch-hitter?"

"The coach told me to bat left-handed so I'd be closer to first base, but I believe he just wanted to get some use out of a batting helmet that had the earflap on the right side."

Eight-year-old Patrick Kindle, Junior knew I was fibbing, but he couldn't make me crack until it was time for him to trade places with his sister. "You never switch-hit, did you?"

"Don't believe everything people tell you, okay?"

His grin was a duplicate of his mother's.

"How old are your children?" Mona asked as soon as she was settled in the seat next to me.

"Amanda will be ten next March and Phillip will be seven."

"Do you have pictures of them?"

I opened my wallet and dug out the few snapshots that I carried of the kids. "These were taken last summer."

Mona scrutinized each picture before passing it to her brother. "This is Amanda. She's Brian's daughter." 

The game was forgotten until the Red Sox came to bat, and Pat returned his attention to the game. Mona continued to look at the pictures and ask questions. "What do Amanda and Phillip like to do?"

"We live next door to my business. They like to watch the customers drive in and park their cars. They make a game out of guessing how many bags the people will be carrying when they return to their cars. Amanda likes to read, and they both like to play games."

"Do they have lots of friends?"

"We don't live near any kids their ages, but we have a big backyard and their friends like to come to our house to play."

"Do you have a swimming pool?"

"No."

She was quiet for a few seconds. I looked at Pat and caught him looking my way. He grinned, and I grinned back. 

"I think I would like a big backyard," Mona said, speaking confidentially, like no one else was to hear her.

She confided in me, saying that her grandmother was very strict, but that her grandfather let her get away with almost anything. At the end of the sixth inning, her face was next to mine, and she was telling me the names of her friends, which ones she liked best, and which ones that could not be trusted. She scowled at her mother when Paige said it was time to change seats.

"It's getting chilly. I'm glad you insisted that we stop and get the coat," I said as she settled in next to me. 

"Are you enjoying the game?" she asked. 

"Your daughter kept me busy answering questions."

"Her mother is going to keep you busy being aroused," Paige said as she opened my coat and put her hand inside. I endured her roaming hand for the next three innings. At one point, she had it under my sweater, massaging my tummy, up to my man-breasts, and back down to my tummy.

"I'd be arrested if I felt you up like that in public," I said.

"Are you becoming aroused?"

"Yes."

"Me too," she whispered, as she patted my tummy and pulled my sweater down.

The subway was even more crowded on our trip home. Paige and I held on to straps that extended down from the ceiling of the car, and let the kids jostle between us. 

I was struck by the orderly way the throngs of passengers waited on the platforms, and moved on and off the train as soon as the doors opened. 

Once, when the train stopped suddenly, Paige lost her grip on the strap, and she and the kids collided into me. I was able to catch them, and we laughed when the train started up again, causing three sets of hands to attach themselves to me any way they could. How I missed my own family at that moment. 

We were in good spirits as we trudged the three blocks to the house. Once inside, Paige instructed the kids to thank me for taking them to the ballgame. Mona leapt into my arms, but her brother was more restrained. I leaned down to return Mona's hug, and found Patrick's arms around my neck. 

Paige broke it up, telling them to get ready for bed. Then it was her turn to thank me. 

"I'm sorry for the accommodations," she said, pointing to the living room couch, which was covered with a blanket, sheet and pillow. "I'll be back to tuck you in," she said before running up the stairs.

I waited an hour for her to come back downstairs, eventually giving up, spreading the blanket on the floor and turning out the light. She gasped when she tripped and came crashing down on top of me.

"Brian, what are you doing on the floor?" she asked as she felt my feet, my legs, my torso, until she got her body turned around.

"I'm used to sleeping on the floor. The couch was too soft," I said, lifting one-half of the sheet and blanket for her to crawl inside. My hand went directly to her ass, and I could feel that there was nothing beneath the flimsy nightgown, no panties, nothing but soft flesh. 



Distribution Ch. 08



Chapter 8: Sex with Paige

I held the sheet and blanket for her, and Paige crawled in next to me. My hand went immediately to her ass, and aside from the flimsy nightgown, I felt nothing but soft flesh.

She wiggled her body in an attempt to close every inch of space between us. I groaned.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"No," I managed to say. She'd eased her tummy back a bit, making the way she was bending my cock bearable. 

I moved my hand under the nightgown, up her back, feeling the soft skin against my fingers. She kissed me; I kissed back, letting her have her way with my tongue. 

God! How I wanted this. Nothing else mattered. My animalistic instincts had taken over. I could think of nothing else but mating with her. 

Uppermost in my mind was getting the nightgown off, and from the way she was wiggling her body, we were of a single mindset. I hoped so. She unglued her lips from mine long enough for the garment to be drawn over her head, and then our lips were like two suction cups battling for supremacy. 

My right arm was under her and that hand held her close while the other one roamed. It was squeezing her ass one second, flat against her back the next, and then between us, tweaking her breasts. I hoped I was doing everything right, and from the way she moaned into my mouth, I was.

My hand left her breasts, floated over her tummy and stopped moving when I felt her pubic hair. Paige froze for a second and I wondered what I'd done wrong. Then, with her right heel planted on the floor, she elevated her pelvis until my middle finger sank into her pussy. 

The accumulation of sweat between our bodies, combined with the sweet-smelling moisture that was surrounding my finger, were making me insanely needy. I couldn't wait any longer. 

Paige must have felt the same way. As I rose onto my knees and carefully lowered my shorts, she settled on her back, positioning her legs wide.

I stabbed blindly, once, twice, the third time was the charm. We were joined, barely. Even in the dark, her grunt told me that she needed time. I waited while she adjusted her ass. With another grunt, she lifted it off the blanket. I pushed forward and sank in to the hilt. Another grunt signaled for more time. I kissed her nose, her cheeks and her chin until she wrapped her arms around me and slid her tongue between my lips. 

As I began to move, the realization struck me that Paige wanted this as much as me. My need was as strong as ever, but it was not mine alone now. I tried to relax and enjoy our first union. I wanted it to be good. Somehow I knew that something was missing. We were fucking, not making love. 

It was not all my fault. Paige was just as wild as me. She dug her fingernails into my back, growled like a bitch in heat, and bit my lip until it bled. When I slowed down, she locked her ankles around me, and demanded that I 'fuck her until she gave me permission to stop.'

When I gave up and let my seed flood her pussy, she shuddered, let her feet drop to the floor, kept her arms around me, whimpered, told me she was sorry if she'd hurt me, and encouraged me to let my weight slump on top of her. 

We lay still, breathing hard, collecting our thoughts. I supported my weight with my elbows and we stayed joined as long as possible. 

"I must go," she said when my cock slipped out of its confinement. 

"Stay with me," I implored.

"Let me up before I make your sheet unbearable to sleep on."

"Come back," I said, lifting my body. 

"I wish I could, but you know that's impossible," she said, getting to her feet.

I held on to her hand for one more precious second, and released it, knowing that she was right. She fled from the room, carrying her nightgown. 

Except for hearing water running in the upstairs bath, I didn't see or hear Paige until the following morning. Needless to say, I'd slept well.

The household came to life early for a Saturday. I folded my blanket and sheet, got dressed, and shaved in the downstairs bathroom. 

Talk at breakfast centered on the baseball game. Pat sat next to me and Mona sat next to Paige on the opposite side of the table. Mrs. Peoples, Florence as she told me to call her, presided from one end and Mr. Peoples, first name Arthur per the will, sat at the head of the table and said little.

"Does Amanda have email?" Mona directed her question at me. Paige and I exchanged a look before I answered in the affirmative.

"I'd like to tell her that I met you and that you showed me her picture."

"She'd like that. I'll give you her address," I said, and watched her grin at me. In some respects, Mona reminded me of my daughter. There was no physical resemblance; it was purely their little-girl inquisitiveness. 

While Paige ran upstairs for her overnight bag, Florence urged me to have seconds of everything. 

Mona brought a paper and pen, wanting me to write Amanda's email address. She complained when Paige returned to the room, saying that she didn't see why her mother had to leave so soon.

"We're having guests for dinner," she said, and this prompted questions that took ten minutes to answer. 

Mr. Peoples and Pat came outside to see us off. I was arranging Paige's overnight bag and my new coat in the extended cab of my truck when I remembered the check. I told Paige to open the glove compartment. The check fell out. She first accused me of being careless for leaving the check in the glove compartment all night, but then softened.

I watched her get out of the truck, approach her father, and talk quietly to him as she handed him the check. He looked my way, smiled, and hugged his daughter. Pat looked on, completely at a loss as to what was taking place.

She directed me through the neighborhood, and we were on the expressway, heading south, before she spoke of the check.

"You can't imagine what a difference it's going to make in their lives. He hasn't been able to work since the stroke, and their retirement doesn't go very far. I hope they don't go on a spending spree."

"Is that the reason you moved back home?"

She didn't respond for a few seconds. "It's complicated. We couldn't stay in the house. There was too much harsh public opinion about Patrick's death. I moved here to get away from the taunting my kids were exposed to, and so I could work. My mom is a wonderful babysitter and I contribute to the living expenses."

"Something like that happened to me. Mary said she couldn't live alone, but I think she moved in with us because she wanted to be near her grandchildren."

"I hear statistics about how many grandparents are raising their grandchildren, but I think they're referring to homes where neither parent is present, which is different than our situations."

"My kids would differ with you. I haven't been in the home for over a month."

A stunned look came to Paige's face, like she hadn't considered how long I'd been away from my children. "We've got to find a way for you to spend some time at home. How much longer do you think it will take to dispose of everything?"

"I'm ready to award the contracts for the construction jobs. We'll vote on them on Monday. The auctions are taking forever, but that's by design. I haven't heard from Fred regarding the list of stocks I gave him. I have no idea what the antique cars are worth, but I'm going to propose that we purchase a mailing list of their subscribers from one of the auto magazines."

Paige was removing the jacket she'd worn to the game the night before. She tossed it in the back and perched herself on the bench seat, facing me. I looked at her, from the leg that was folded under the other one, to the way her jeans hugged her thighs, to the light sweater that was stretched across her breasts, to the way her long neck wrinkled when she turned her head my way, to her square jaw, her parted lips, her dainty nose, gray eyes, trimmed eyebrows, smooth forehead, and to her hair, which hung in a loose ponytail at the back of her head.

"You've immersed yourself in this job, haven't you?" It was an observation, not an accusation. 

"I didn't mean to expound on the estate. What would you like to do today?"

Her face took on a look of glee, mixed with shy, downcast eyes. "First, I'd like to move your bed upstairs. Then, I'd like for us to get naked and become better acquainted," she said, extending her arm and running her fingers across my cheek.

I felt an explanation was in order. "I was overanxious last night. It will be better today."

"Me, too," she confessed, adding, "But I disagree with you. It doesn't get any better than last night."

I loved watching her blush. "Was there a part about last night that you liked best?"

To my surprise, Paige didn't blink, let alone blush. "There was a time, before we got lined up better, when I didn't think I would be able to take all of you. And then, when I realized you were all the way in, I came close to shouting to let the world know how good it was. You can't imagine how happy it made me when you showed how considerate you can be. You gave me a minute to become accustomed to being filled up. It wasn't just the tremendous feeling of you being inside me. I knew that I had a caring lover on top of me. It doesn't get any better than that."

She didn't really look my way, but I was struck by her candor. I tried once more to make her blush. "Gee, Paige, it looks like we have something else in common."

We looked into each other's eyes, smiling and feeling smug, at least I knew I was.

I was for locking the doors and spending the afternoon upstairs, but it didn't work out that way. We'd spread my sleeping blanket next to hers and arranged the frames containing the photos of my family when Charlie rang the back doorbell. He had news that the lady from the newspaper had been there looking for me. 

Paige was in favor of my calling Ms. Adams and inviting her to return. I accused her of wanting to find out if I'd been truthful when I'd described the newspaper reporter. She didn't deny that I'd guessed correctly.

Ms. Adams' visit turned out to be so enlightening that Paige invited her to stay for lunch. When she left two hours later, we had learned that the editor at one of the newspapers where Mackey had worked remembered him. The editor agreed to send Ms. Adams a sample of Mackey's columns. He also expressed an interest in the article Ms. Adams was working on, saying that he would run it in the Denver, Colorado newspaper. 

"We've got to go shopping," Paige said as soon as Ms. Adams was out the door. I voiced a complaint, reminding her that there were better ways to spend a Saturday afternoon, only to be told that if I wanted to eat, we had to shop. 

After the grocery store, we stopped at a mall to look for a coffee maker. 

"Serving instant coffee after dinner is like having sex through a knothole," she said, turning scarlet as soon as she'd said it.

"Right now, I'd settle for a knothole," I said.

"Later, Tiger, and there won't be any knothole between us," she said, to console me. 

Paige was putting the groceries away and I was setting up the new coffeemaker when Fred Meriwether called, saying he'd like to stop by to discuss the stock. What could I say?

Fifteen minutes later he was spreading his notes out on the kitchen table. Nadine had come with him. I gave her the Food Pantry check. 

"Thank you, Brian. The pantry can certainly use this. What did the others say?"

"I mailed my parents' check and Paige gave her dad his check this morning, but I haven't seen Mr. McMahan or Ms. Dickens."

"My dad was pleasantly surprised," Paige said.

"Wait a second. You gave him his check this morning. Didn't you come here yesterday?"

Paige looked my way before responding to Nadine's question. "Brian came to Boston yesterday afternoon. We took the kids to the Red Sox game and he forgot about the check until this morning."

Nadine put her hand over her mouth in a mock surprise. "You went to Boston and stayed overnight. May I inquire about the sleeping arrangements?" 

"Nadine, Honey, I'm ready to get started," Fred said.

"I slept on the floor in the living room," I said to Nadine before giving Fred my full attention.

He gave us his firm's official standing on each of the stocks, and then added his own opinion when it differed from his firm's. It took over an hour to cover all twenty stocks, and I could tell that Paige was becoming nervous. She wanted to get started with dinner so she would have time to bathe and dress before our company arrived. I nodded at her, sending a silent message.

"Nadine," she began, leaning over the table to look directly in the other woman's eyes, "We're having the Whitneys for dinner tonight. We would have invited you guys if we had more chairs, but eating lasagna standing up is not my idea of a dinner party."

"You're serving lasagna?" Nadine asked.

"Nadine, she said they would have invited us if they had more chairs. Paige is not inviting us," Fred cautioned his wife, obviously anxious to continue his report on the stock.

Nadine was persistent. "She would have invited us if there were two more chairs. We have two chairs we can bring."

"Really, Nadine, it's impolite to intrude. We were just here last Saturday night," Fred said, trying to reason with her. 

"Please," Paige said, tapping the table to make her point. "Come back at seven with two chairs. You'll be welcome. Let's not discuss it any more."

Nadine wouldn't let it rest. "Shall we bring our spare bed too?"

Paige and I laughed, but it was her that responded. "Brian says he prefers to sleep on the floor, and I don't mind at all."

Fred resumed his discussion of the stock, made recommendations on the timing of the sales. We took a quick vote and told him to go ahead with his plan. The couple left, unaware that they'd ruined our afternoon. 

Paige got dinner underway and went upstairs to get ready. I showered and found a decent pair of slacks and shirt to wear that night. 

When the two couples arrived, the men carrying one chair each and the women carrying wine, I immediately saw that the girls had conspired to go braless. Once she removed her apron, Paige's cleavage looked particularly appealing with the straps that tied at the back of her neck barely covering her breasts. Her hair was down, brushed to a soft sheen. 

If Harold and Janice knew that the Meriwethers had been added to the guest list at the last minute, they didn't show that they minded. 

Midway through the main course, Harold raised his glass, wanting to toast me. "Brian helped get me a job," he said, adding, "Thank you, Man."

We talked about various subjects, such as the baseball game we'd attended the evening before, and the article Ms. Adams was planning to publish on Uncle Mackey, and at the end of the evening, Paige only had one question for me. 

"What was the toast about?" she asked after our guests had left. We were making a half-hearted attempt to put the kitchen in order, both anxious to go upstairs and undress each other.

"He asked me to go with him to quote a job. I didn't know why he wanted me to go along, but he'd missed out on getting any of the work on this house so I wanted to help him if I could.

"It's a siding job. Even I could see that all of the shingles needed to be replaced, but the guy only wanted a patch job. Harold tried his best, but couldn't reason with the man. He was on the other side of the house counting the damaged shingles when I saw my opportunity. I pretended to be Harold's partner, used some of the power-words that I learned when I was taking calls from customers, and the guy bought my argument. He told me to tell my partner to give him a quote to replace everything. Well, that's what we did and Harold even got the guy to give him a down payment. He's starting the job on Monday."

Paige came to me, the kitchen forgotten. I held her and let her tell me how great I was. "Do you realize that we've only been here five weeks and we've made more friends than we have chairs?"

"We've made some enemies, too," I reminded her.

"It's your abrasive personality."

"Ah, making friends is a joint project, but making enemies is because of my abrasive personality."

Her kiss was brief. She became thoughtful. "We do well when we set a common goal, don't we?"

"It's you. I just follow."

"It's you," she said, linking her arm in mine and heading to the stairs. 

Entering the room was like being admitted to an exclusive club, like the first time a kid with a tree house in his backyard let me join him, or when a girl in a college sorority invited me to one of their parties. This was Paige's private chamber, and she was welcoming me to join her there.

She giggled when I had trouble finding the clasp that held the straps of her dress together. I lowered my hands to her ass and let her do it. She didn't seem to mind when the dress fell to the floor. We continued to kiss until she discovered my cock.

"You're overdressed," she said before leaving the room. 

I removed my clothes and was completely naked when she returned. We embraced in the dark and I discovered that she was still wearing the panties and shoes she'd had on when she left the room. Only now she smelled like soap.

She was silently compliant as I lowered her to her sleeping blanket. It was like this was my night to dominate our lovemaking and she had no say in the way I went about it.

Wanting fervently to please her, I began with her nipples and gave them ample attention before moving my lips down to her tummy. There was already the unmistakable aroma of arousal coming from her pussy and I still hadn't removed her panties. They were sheer silken fabric and I would have liked to have seen the expression on her face when my tongue pushed the material into her slit, but it was dark in the room. I had to rely on her intake of air to know that my method was effective. 

I repeated the rounds twice, nibbling on her nipples, leaving a trail of saliva on her tummy, and pushing the crotch of her panties deeper into her slit before I removed her shoes and placed my hands on her hips. Paige's ass lifted off the blanket to permit me to pull her soaked panties down her legs. 

The lips of her pussy were spread, and she was whimpering in anticipation as I lowered my face to pull the lips out and let them spring back. I repeated this until I felt one of her heels dig into my back, telling me to get on with it. Her clit was enlarged and obviously super-sensitive. I'd only flipped it with my tongue twice when I felt her whole body shake, violently. Her hands pushed my head away.

"Brian...that was...," she said in a weak whisper, like she'd lost her voice, but not her determination. She placed her hands to my shoulders in an attempt to pull me to her. 

I'd barely gotten into position when I felt her hand wrapped around my cock. I let her guide it to her opening and my entrance was much easier than the night before. 

"Are you all right?" I asked when we were fully engaged.

"I'm good, give me a minute...I'm good," she repeated, beginning to thrust her hips upward.

I drew back slowly and pushed, only to have her repeat, "I'm good, I'm really, really good!"

She had her hands on my back, holding me tight, and she giggled in nervous excitement. It took a few long, slow thrusts to make her settle down. Once she got used to the pace I was setting, she responded to my thrusts with pinpoint timing. We worked together until she reported that she was near climaxing and begged me to come with her. I'd been holding back so it was not hard for me to release my seed a few strokes after she peaked and wilted. 

Unlike the night before, she didn't leave me, except to slip into the bathroom to pee, and whatever. We cuddled and explored each other's body. We talked very little. 

It had been a long time since I'd slept with a woman and I guess it was the same for Paige. But I was aware that she was there, next to me. She made sure of that. At one point I became aware that her leg was drawn up with her thigh resting on my back, just above my butt. I felt her foot on my thigh, her bush tickling my hip and her breasts straddling my arm, which was between us. 




Distribution Ch. 08



Strange, I thought before I slipped into slumber. I almost never sleep on my stomach. I was still on my stomach when I awoke. Sunshine was streaming through the window; Paige was not there. Neither was her dress, panties, or shoes. I picked up my own clothes and went downstairs. 

"Good morning," she said, as I passed by the kitchen. 

"Good morning," I said, wondering if my naked body offended her. Apparently, it did not. 

"I hope the smell of coffee brewing didn't wake you." 

I assured her that this was my normal time to wake up and headed for the bathroom where I shaved and took a quick shower.

We talked very little while having breakfast, mostly grinning at each other across the table. 

"What would you like to do today?" I asked, as she took the dishes to the sink. She turned, grinned at me and shook her head, as if she was admonishing herself for the thought that was invading her mind.

"I don't know. What would you like to do?"

"Let's go to the beach."

She put up a small argument, saying that she didn't have a swimsuit, but I persisted, saying that we could pack a lunch and eventually won out. We raided the cookie jar, went shopping for swimwear, and found a relatively secluded beach. There was a sign indicating that a beach sticker was required and another one stating that there would be no lifeguard on duty after Labor Day. We spread beach towels on the sand and ran to the water, screaming at the top of our voices as soon as we discovered the temperature of the water. No wonder the beach was practically empty. It wasn't so bad when we got used to it, but we only stayed in the water for a few minutes.

"This was your idea," Paige said as I patted her dry. We lay down facing each other.

The swimsuit Paige had chosen was two-piece, conservative, but revealing at the same time. I spread sunscreen on her back, beginning with her shoulders and down to the waistband of her bottoms. Along the way, we began kissing, and when I rolled her onto her back I accidentally dropped the sunscreen bottle and gave her tongue my full attention. That's when she happened to discover my hard-on. 

"Let's go back to the house," she suggested and I didn't lodge an argument. We picked everything up and made a dash for my truck. 

"I didn't get to do the front or your legs," I lamented.

"I didn't get to do any of you. What do you say we go upstairs and pretend to spread sunscreen on each other?"

"That sounds like a good plan, but I hope you're talking about doing it with our swimsuits off."

She gave me a, 'you-silly-boy' look. "Do you like having sex with me, Brian?"

Was she being serious? "Of course, I like having sex with you. What made you ask that?"

"I thought we would go back upstairs after breakfast this morning, but you wanted to go to the beach."

"Did you take my wanting to go to the beach as a rejection, Paige?"

"I'm not as liberated as I led you to believe. I didn't mean it when I said I will try anything once. There are some things I won't do." 

"I know that, I mean, its something I feel about you. Don't think that I wouldn't have liked to go back upstairs this morning. I guess I was being cautious. I didn't want to push things too far."

"Don't ask me why I want this, but I know one thing and that is that we have a limited amount of time. We're going to get the estate wrapped up so you can be home for Thanksgiving. That gives us most of October and three weeks in November. By then, you'll be tired of me because I'm going to be here every weekend until it's over."

Paige settled back on her seat, having said everything she wanted me to know. Why she was doing this, having what could only be short-term sex with me was just as puzzling to me as it was to her. All I knew was that I didn't want it to stop.

"You know that you can trust me, don't you?" I asked as we pulled into the driveway.

"With my life," she said, solemnly as she got out of the truck. 

While she showered to get the sunscreen off I straightened the sleeping blankets and looked at the framed photos that were placed upright next to each one. Last night, it had been dark in the room. Did I want my family watching me make love to a strange woman? Did I want Patrick, Mona and young Pat Junior watching me make love to their wife and mother? What the hell if Paige didn't mind, I didn't either. After all, it wasn't like our families were in the room with us. 

If Paige thought of the pictures the same as me, she didn't show it. We spread imaginary sunscreen on each other's bodies, paying attention to the hard to reach crevices. She closed her eyes and let my hands roam, but when her turn came, she opened her eyes and inspected every inch of my body. 

"What's this? Is it painful?" she asked.

I opened my eyes to see her lips not two inches from my cock. It was standing proud, weaving back and forth, like a swinging pendulum. Her eyes were following the movement. I tried to accelerate the swing to throw her off, but she was too fast for me. Her tongue snaked out and brought the pendulum to a sudden stop. She had the head between her lips before I could react. 

I waited for her to engulf more of my cock, but she didn't. Her lips were holding the head motionless and her tongue was doing a tap dance. I was sure I was going to lose it when she pulled off and grinned at me. 

With no warning, she straddled my waist, spreading her legs enough for me to see that her pussy was open and glistening. She looked into my eyes as she aimed my cock, and sank down on it until she had it in as far as it would go. 

I filed the look on her face in the back of my mind for future reference. It was a mixture of awe, ecstasy and extreme intensity. Her small breasts jiggled on her chest as she lifted her ass and came down hard. She was soon breathing deeply, and there were beads of sweat forming on her brow. I wanted to help, but she grabbed my hand and moved them away from her ass. 

I came with a jolt, spewing my cum inside her, but she continued bouncing, pretending not to notice the lubricant that had invaded her tunnel. Her persistence was invigorating, so much so that my erection returned. Paige felt it, and increased the speed of her bounces, only to become exhausted. She slowed to a snail's pace, admitting that she was spent.

I flipped her over and gave her a minute to realize that I'd turned the tables on her. She looked up at me, blinked her eyes and took in giant loads of air, preparing to accept whatever fate I had in store for her. My first inclination was to give her some of the same treatment, but her doe eyes made me weaken. I fucked her slowly, alternating short and long strokes until I felt her tense. That's when I increased my speed, becoming a human jackhammer. When I unloaded my sperm, I discovered that her body was attached to mine, hanging on to my neck with her hands and my ass with her legs. 

I became concerned when I saw how she was trembling, too weak to speak. I rolled off her, wanting to give us space to breathe. We lay staring at the ceiling for several minutes. 

When I was somewhat recovered, I turned on my side, resting my head on my hand. She turned on her side to face me. She smiled at me and I smiled back.

"What are you thinking?"

I wasn't prepared for the question, but I answered honestly. "I'm thinking how beautiful you are."

She frowned, disbelievingly. Her hair was soaked with sweat; droplets covered her forehead and rolled down her nose. An explanation was in order.

"There's beauty in the way you look at me, accept me for what I am, the way you pick me out in the crowd when you get off of the bus, the way you smile at me from across the table. There's beauty in the way you fill out a swimsuit or the dress you wore last night. Now that I've seen what's under the clothes you wear, I see beauty in your breasts and the way my cum oozes from your pussy."

Paige looked down to see the white glob clinging between her lips. 

"Hold that thought," she said, running from the room.

"I meant it in a good way. You have a beautiful pussy," I called after her.

She came back a minute later with a washcloth, which she used to clean the juices from my cock. "Please continue," she said, getting back into position, only this time she was next to me, with her nipples touching my chest and her lips an inch from mine.

"Did you hear me say that you have a beautiful pussy?"

"Yes, I heard you and I agree. Tell me more."

"There's beauty in your voice and the things you say to me, in person, when we're on the phone or when you call to me from another room. Your facial expressions are beautiful. I like to picture how you look when you call me," I said, stopping, wondering what she wanted to hear.

"You skipped right over my lips," she scolded, pressing her lips to mine for a few seconds.

"You have beautiful lips. There's beauty in the way you kiss me."

"You didn't mention my legs."

"Your entire body is beautiful. I especially like your legs."

"You didn't say anything about the way my legs were wrapped around you when you were fucking me just now?"

"I was very much aware of the way you were hanging on to me with your arms and your legs. Was that too much for you?"

"It was beautiful," she said, pushing me onto my back and falling on top of me. I held her until we drifted off to sleep. It was mid-afternoon when we awoke, both starving. 

The things I'd said about her being beautiful must have been convincing. Paige didn't seem to mind that her hair was in tangles and sweat was dried to her skin as we wolfed down the sandwiches we had taken to the beach. 

"What would you like to do now?" she asked, holding up an apple and a pear for me to choose which one I wanted. I picked the pear.

"I would like to take some pictures of you in the swimsuit."

She was noncommittal; making me wonder what was going through her mind. Was an explanation in order? Should I tell her that I wanted to save something for tonight, our last night together for five days? Should I offer to take her back upstairs and fuck her silly?

"Give me time to make myself pretty," she said, looking sexy as she took a bite out of her apple. She avoided me and ran up the stairs when she saw my cock jump to attention. 

I used the time to take a shower and put on my new swim trunks. When she returned, her hair was groomed and her face was made up to be photographed. As said before, the swimsuit was two-piece and conservative, but her natural curves stood out.

We started in the gazebo, taking shot after shot of her in provocative poses. Next, I opened the barn door and asked her to stand next to the Studebaker. 

"You're not going to use my picture to advertise these cars," she said in absolute seriousness. 

"These pictures are strictly to refresh my memory when you're not here," I assured her.

She came near me, so near that I dropped the camera to my side and watched to see what she would do. 

"Brian, do you need pictures to remember what I look like? I'll never forget the expression on your face or the feeling it gave me when you were pounding me."

Concerned, I took her in my arms. "Did I hurt you?"

"You didn't hurt me. I told you before that it was beautiful. You made me a new woman. I'd never felt anything like that before."

"Are you sure, Paige?"

"I trust you, Brian."

I closed the barn door, deciding that I didn't need pictures of her posing with the antique automobiles. She grabbed the camera and took several pictures of me before running toward the house. When I caught up with her, she was punching a number into the phone.

"Nadine, we've decided to take you up on your offer to loan us a bed," Paige said into the mouthpiece, glancing mischievously at me. There was a pause while she listened and before she spoke again.

"I didn't say there is anything wrong with the floor. It fact, we may still do it on the floor. The bed is for sleeping. I need my rest and I'm sure Brian does too, if he would just admit it."

Paige blew me a kiss while she listened.

"We'll be right over," she said before placing the receiver in its cradle.

Nadine held her tongue when we showed up in our swimwear to collect the bed. Fred helped me load the bulky pieces in my truck and offered to come to the house to help carry them up the stairs, but Paige said it wasn't necessary. We thanked the Meriwethers for their generosity and left them on their front steps, grinning smugly as we drove away.

Getting the heavy pieces up the stairs was a struggle, but Paige was determined, saying it would be worth our efforts. I suppose it was. We launched the bed on its maiden voyage, liked the results and took our ship for two more cruises, once that night and again the following morning. 

Nadine arrived early, wanting to know if the bed had been 'comfortable' and 'restful.' We assured her that it was to our liking. 

The Monday morning meeting went per plan. All votes passed, ninety-one to zero. The contractors were to be awarded their contracts and I was to order the auto magazine's mailing list. 

As we adjourned the meeting, I saw Mr. McMahan drive by the house. It looked like someone else was sitting in the passenger's seat. 

Moments later, Paige was ready to go. I could tell that she had something on her mind as we drove to the bus station.

"You seem reticent to talk about our sexual encounters. Personally, I've never felt more alive. I'm constantly titillated, looking forward to our next time. I don't know what's come over me."

Was she being serious? We'd talked about nothing else all weekend. I'd apologized for being rough, and she'd said it was beautiful. I decided she needed to be reassured that it was good for me. 

"Paige, we had one hell of a good weekend. You keep me constantly titillated, too, and I'm already looking forward to next weekend. I wouldn't change a thing, except make it longer if I could."

"Would you like it if I came on Thursday instead of Friday?"

"Of course I would, but we know you're committed to Fridays."

"What if I stayed until Tuesday next weekend?"

"You'd probably kill me, but I'd die happy."

"Do you think I'm oversexed?"

"I think that once you decided to have sex with me, thinking that it would be a short-term fling with no strings attached, you found that you liked it more than you ever imagined, and now you're fighting the Thanksgiving deadline. No, I don't think you're oversexed."

She looked sad, and I was afraid that I'd hurt her feelings for telling her what I thought.

"It doesn't have to be a short-term fling," she said in a soft voice.

We'd arrived at the bus station and were waiting for her bus to pull in. 

"Paige, we've only had one weekend together. Next week could be completely different. It may not match our expectations. Anyway, it was your idea that I finish by Thanksgiving."

"It doesn't have to be Thanksgiving. You could come back."

The bus arrived and passengers were getting on. We walked together, holding each other and exchanging kisses. 

"Call me tonight. We'll discuss it then," I said, releasing her.

"I don't want to discuss it tonight. I want you to say you'll come back."

"I'll come back," I said, and got a teary smile in return.



Distribution Ch. 09



Chapter 9: Another surprise-filled week

I delivered Paige to the bus station, saw her off, and was on the way back to the house when the enormity of what we'd just talked about struck me. She'd first wanted to talk about the sex between us, and when I characterized what we had together as a short-term fling, she took exception. 

She talked about the short time we would have if we finished the bulk of the distribution by Thanksgiving. I asked her to call me that evening and we would discuss it then. 

"I don't want to discuss it tonight. I want you to say you'll come back," she said in a pleading voice that I could not refuse. I didn't take a second to think about my answer. I told her that I would come back after Thanksgiving.

What was this coming to? Was she falling in love with me? Didn't she know that we were in an impossible situation? I had responsibilities at home. There was also the money I owed Georgia. She had me tied to the small town for the next eighteen years. Should I have been more forthcoming regarding my situation? Would it have made any difference to Paige? 

It wasn't just us either. We both had kids and she was committed to care for her parents. There was nothing simple about it. What if we stopped right now, before either of us admitted that we were in love? How would I go about suggesting that we stop? This was bad, very, very, bad.

I would have preferred to stroll through the house, pick up her scent, recall how she tried to hide in the shadows, close my eyes and feel her touch, hear her laugh, and relive our weekend. 

But my stroll from room to room was impossible because Nadine was at the kitchen table, uploading our new offerings to be auctioned. 

"I hope you found the bed satisfactory?" she asked, grinning smugly.

"Paige seemed to enjoy the bed, but I've gotten used to the floor."

"I hope you humored her and moved to the bed last night."

"Yes, but we didn't get very much sleep. I hope she catches up tonight," I said and watched Nadine blush.

"Janice called while you were gone. She's inviting us to her house next Saturday night," she said, changing the subject. I told her that I would inform Paige.

Before Nadine left, I used my credit card to order the mailing list from the antique automobile magazine. They said they would ship the labels overnight and Nadine agreed to come back on Wednesday to help with the mailing. 

I never did get a chance to see if I could pick up Paige's scent. I spent the morning on the telephone, lining up the contractors for the various jobs. 

I was munching on fruit that Paige had placed in a conspicuous spot on the kitchen counter when the phone rang. It was Harold Whitney.

"I hate to ask you, Brian, but I could use some help with the scaffolding. It works a lot better with two people. My guys are tied up on another job and..."

"Say no more. I know where you are and I'll be there in a few minutes."

I don't know why I changed into an old pair of jeans and put boots on. Unfortunately, I didn't think to take gloves with me. 

Harold was on the east side of the house and had ripped the old shingles off the house as far up as he could reach from the ground. We cranked the scaffolding to about three feet and when he climbed onto the walkway, I did too.

He used a tool that looked like a flat shovel to pry the shingles loose. I watched him with interest until he got halfway down the walkway, and then I motioned for him to let me try it. 

It was harder than Harold had made it look. While I struggled to remove the shingles, he used a hammer to clean up the bits and pieces that had clung to the wall, and to knock the old staples home. He got his side done and continued to clean my side until the last shingle dropped to the tarpaulin below. 

We raised the scaffolding and traded tools. Now, I had to work in a bent over position to finish cleaning my side. This time, Harold didn't stop at the halfway point. He continued to remove the shingles and I didn't argue with him. Instead, I went to the spot where he had started and used the hammer to clean up his work. 

"Let's take a break," he said when we'd gotten to the end of the row.

By taking a break, he didn't mean that we would have a cold drink and wipe the sweat from our brows. His idea of a break was for us to drag the tarpaulin to the front of the house and dispose of the old shingles in a dumpster.

The owner came out of the house and told Harold that he was glad to see that his partner had finally shown up. Harold explained that two of our helpers would join him the next day. 

"Brian has another job underway. He's restoring a house that dates back to the eighteenth century."

This changed the owner's look of disapproval to one of admiration. He went back into his house. Harold and I grinned at each other.

We went back to work and raised the scaffolding twice more before Harold called it a day. As we emptied the tarpaulin into the dumpster, he thanked me for my help.

"I wanted to show that old man that I wasn't going to take a month to finish this job. He's been out here every hour to check my progress."

"Are you sure your help is going to be here tomorrow?" I asked, and he assured me that they were good boys and they would be there.

I took a long shower, but as I told Paige when she called, "I used muscles today that I haven't used in a long time."

"That was sweet of you to help him. I hope you didn't hurt yourself."

"Janice is hosting the dinner party this Saturday night."

If she heard me, Paige didn't feel it was necessary to comment. I told her how busy I'd been, giving her a thumbnail sketch of the contractors' schedule:

Tuesday: The power washer would ready the exterior for painting.

Wednesday: Nadine and I were going to do the antique auto mailing.

Thursday: I was to meet with Mrs. Sarah Avery regarding the replacement windows and the pattern for the roof shingles. 

Friday: I would make shipments of auction items to the winning bidders. 

"Friday will be the best day of the week," I said.

"Because I'll be there?"

"Yes, I'll pick you up at the bus station and that's the day Miss Adams' article will appear in the local paper."

"Brian, didn't you hear me say I'm coming on Thursday? It will be late but I'll be there three days this weekend."

"I heard you but I didn't take you seriously. That's great!" 

"Dream of me?" she asked as she ended the call. 

This was becoming serious. It wasn't that I didn't look forward to spending the long weekend with her. I did. Could I stop what was happening if I wanted to? The answer was no. Did I want to stop it? Same answer. I was awake when the power washer showed up, but I didn't attempt to move. Every muscle in my body ached from the work I'd done the day before. I struggled with my pants and shirt, but gave up trying to bend over to tie my sneakers. 

Charlie came over to inspect the work the power washers were doing. They moved fast and it only took them a couple of hours to finish the house before they moved to the barn. 

I invited Charlie inside for a cup of coffee and showed him the schedule. The painters would be there the following Monday and this was to be followed by the window replacement. The roofers I'd chosen would start around the fist of November.

"What about the barn?" Charlie asked.

"Matthew Dawkins refuses to give me a date until the cars are gone. We're doing a mailing tomorrow. I'll set the final bid date for the end of October and give the winner another week to remove the cars. If Mr. Dawkins starts the job the middle of November he should be finished by the end of the year."

"Are you going to be here that long?"

"It looks that way," I said, not wanting to go into detail about how painful it was for me to tell Amanda and Phillip that I didn't know when I would be coming home. I was even reluctant to tell them that I'd be home for Thanksgiving. 

A letter I received that day from my mother gave me reason to believe that my efforts were appreciated. It also infuriated me. I read the letter to Paige that night when she called.

October 6, 2007

Dear Son,

You can't imagine how much the check you sent boosted your father's spirits. 

Up until now we've been reluctant to share our troubles with you. But now, I feel that you've earned the right to hear about your father's condition. He suffers from dementia and his condition is worsening rapidly. 

I know that we told you that we were very fortunate to be able to retire early; however, that was not the case. He was asked by his employer to accept early retirement. For the past year, we've struggled to make ends meet. The check you sent will make our life much easier. 

You came to our aid without pressing me for the reason your father couldn't represent himself. We know that you're making a sacrifice, being away from your family and working hard to make sure we get our share of the estate. We want to compensate you for your devotion to a job well done. Please find a check in the amount on ten thousand dollars enclosed. You can expect a like amount for each future distribution of forty-four thousand dollars. We hope you will set some of what we pay you aside for the education of our grandson.

Our Love,

Mom and Dad

"My God!" Paige exclaimed. "There's no mention of Amanda."

"It's always that way. They must think she'll go away if they ignore her. I've written a scathing letter to tell them I'll finish this job, but they can keep their money."

"No, Honey, you mustn't send the letter. After all, they're your parents."

I don't know if she realized that she'd called me Honey, but it made me agree not to return the check to my parents. 

Paige laughed at the similarities between our parents' financial situations. "If only my parents would give me ten grand for each check they receive," she laughed. 

We made tentative plans for the weekend, but she shied away from talking about the sex that we would enjoy and she did not bring up my promise to return after spending Thanksgiving at home. She did, however, let her voice trail off, reminding me of the way she sounded after strenuous sex, when we were facing each other. The picture of her naked body came to mind. I wondered if she was doing it on purpose. Before we hung up, I told her of my plan to inform my sister how displeased I was with our mother's attitude toward Amanda. Paige congratulated me, saying that asking Ginny to intercede was an excellent idea. 

I wrote a quick e-mail to Ginny and then I wrote a note to the bank, instructing them to deposit half of the check in each of my children's education accounts.

The rest of the week went as planned. Nadine helped with the mailing, and I offered to take her to lunch. I wanted to celebrate having seen two favorable comments from customers. They stated that their shipment arrived in a timely manner and the contents matched the description we'd advertised. 

"There's a clam shack near my house. Let's see if they're still open," she suggested. She drove her car and I followed her. We ordered fried clams and ate them sitting at a table overlooking the water. Aside from a guy with a couple of dogs, the beach was deserted. It was quite pleasant. 

"I'm going to find out how much longer they're going to be open," I said, referring to the clam shack. "I'd like to bring Paige here for lunch." 

Nadine cocked her head, appraisingly. "I've never seen two people connect as quickly as the way you and Paige have. It's like you're meant for each another."

"It's not that simple, Nadine. We're worlds apart."

"You could have fooled me. Everyone says you're the couple for the ages."

I didn't ask who everyone was. She thanked me for the lunch and we went our separate ways. I stopped by Harold's job to see how he was doing. He and his two helpers were beginning to shingle both ends of the house. The shingles they were using were pre-painted and were already improving the appearance of the house. 

"Janice tells me we're entertaining this weekend," he said and I told him we were looking forward to Saturday night.

Back at the house, I re-read Amanda's e-mail from the day before. She wrote that she was enjoying her correspondence with Mona. 

There was also an e-mail from my sister. Ginny was furious about the way our mother was ignoring Amanda. She described the campaign she had launched to turn the tide. I wrote back to thank her, saying that I was sure she would be effective. I wasn't sure at all.

The meeting with Mrs. Sara Avery could not have gone better. I took a sample of the replacement windows and of a roof shingle I wanted to use. She was especially happy to hear that Mr. Dawkins had received the contract to do the work on the barn.

Paige phoned at seven-thirty, saying she would see me in thirty minutes. 

"Would you like to stop for something to eat?" I asked.

"Let's not waste time eating in a restaurant," she said, and I didn't argue with her. I hoped I was interpreting her correctly. As it turned out, I was. She came off the bus with purpose. After a warm greeting that rocked me off my feet, she said, "Take me to you den, Tiger."

It was eight-fifteen when we arrived at the house. Ten minutes later, we were totally naked and in the bed with just a sheet covering us. I was sucking on her nipples, preparing to move down to her tummy when I felt her hands on my head, tugging, making it clear that she wanted to cut the foreplay short. I moved between her legs and discovered that she was indeed, ready.

Paige was in a talkative mood. 

"This is all I've been thinking about for the last hour," she said as she grabbed my cock and aimed it at her opening. "I would never use the bathroom on the bus, but I did today."

"You did?" I asked, beginning to move and finding that she was very receptive.

"I went back there and put my diaphragm in so I would be ready for you."

"I'm glad you did that."

"Me too. If feels good. I love having you inside me."

"It does feel good and I love being inside you."

"Brian, do you think you could fuck me a little harder?"

I pushed hard and laughed when I heard the bedsprings complain. "Is that better?"

"You do me so good. Do you like it that I'm hot for you?"

"Paige, you're a dream come true."

That seemed to please her. She made cooing sounds until her climax hit her, and then she used the heel of her right foot to urge me to spill my seed. 

She was happy and that made me happy. She held me, and ran her hands over my back, obviously wanting me to remain on top of her. I felt her pussy work my cock, clenching, releasing, and making me want to stay like this all night. Eventually though, my weenie wilted and it was time to clean up. She rushed into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I picked up my shorts and went downstairs to use the bathroom there. 

It was chilly in the house. I found a flannel shirt and a pair of sneakers to go along with my shorts. Paige appeared in a short robe that I hadn't seen before. 

"Will a scrambled egg sandwich suit you?" she asked, like she'd forgotten what just took place in the bed.

"I'll make the toast and pour the milk," I offered and watched her nod her agreement. 

She was thoughtful as she worked at the stove. I set the table and waited for her to tell me what was on her mind. We took our seats at the table before she began. 

"I've never been like this before," she said, looking deep into my eyes. 

I nodded to show that I knew exactly what she was talking about. She was returning to the question she'd asked last weekend, "Do you think I'm oversexed?"

I'd told her that I didn't think she was oversexed, but I'd made the mistake of calling our affair a short-termed fling. She'd said that it didn't need to be short-termed.

"Brian, I squeezed five days of work into four so I could be here with you tonight. I've never been inside one of those bathrooms at the back of the bus before, but I was getting wet and I wanted to save time."

"Was it worth it?"

"The bathroom was disgusting and I'll never do it again, but yes, it was worth it."

"I'm glad you made the sacrifice."

We took our first bites from our sandwiches. Paige smiled to herself. "I'm glad too."

~ 

We got up early and went for a walk to the nearest market where I picked up a copy of the local newspaper. Miss Adams' article about Uncle Mackey began on the first page, and quickly moved to page four where there were pictures of him and Aunt Elsie. 

We were on our way back to the house when Gordon McMahan pulled up and stopped. He addressed Paige, ignoring me.

"May I offer you a ride, Mrs. Kindle?"

"Thank you Gordon, but I need the exercise," Paige said, glancing at me, grinning in an 'as-if-we-didn't-get-enough-exercise-last-night' way.

"I need to speak with you, privately," he said. "I'd like to explain."

"You can talk freely, Mr. McMahan. I have no secrets from Brian, absolutely no secrets at all," she said, leaning into me in a trusting way that would have told most people that we were sleeping together, but not Mr. McMahan. He was persistent. 

"If I could have five minutes of your time, Mrs. Kindle," he said in a pleading way that made me feel sorry for him. Paige was less charitable. 

"Mr. McMahan, we're very busy today. I need to change the bed and this is Brian's day to make shipments. Please spill whatever you want to explain."

"You have a bed?" he asked, completely dumbfounded.

"We have one on loan," she answered, dismissively, like the conversation was coming to a close. I put my arm around her waist and we began to walk. 

Gordon McMahan was still recovering from the shock that we had a bed in the house, but he managed to tell us what was on his mind.

"I didn't mean to get you in trouble, Mrs. Kindle. It was Ms. Dickens' idea. Are you sure you won't accept a ride with me? I'd like to assure you that it was not my doing."

Paige jumped on my back, surprising me. My reaction was automatic. I placed my hands under her legs and took off running. 

"Thank you, Mr. McMahan, but I have a ride," Paige shouted in the direction of his car. I ran up the road until I heard his car roar by. If he had looked into his rearview mirror he would have seen me drop her to the ground, and turn to pull her to me. We laughed, kissed, and laughed some more. 

"I ride you and you ride me. Would you like to give me a ride before I change the bed?"

"I'd like nothing better than to let you ride me," I said. We hurried back to the house and did just that. Paige outdid herself and by the time she was finished with me the bed really did need to be changed.

I followed her into the bathroom and watched her take a seat on the john. She didn't seem to mind my being there. I washed my cock and was about to leave when she spoke. 

"I wonder what he was talking about." 

She was talking about Gordon McMahan's comment. "I have a feeling that we'll find out," I said, and as it turned out, I was right.

I busied myself getting the auction items ready for shipment while Paige changed the bed. I hoped she would want to go with me and was not disappointed. I looked up from Miss Adams' article when Paige came down the stairs dressed in jeans, a sweat shirt and sneakers.

My delight in seeing her must have shown on my face. Even after the short time since we'd been naked together, it was like we had been apart for days. Her smile was captivating. I dropped the newspaper and took her hand. "Want to go for a ride with me?"

She silently touched my cheek and looked into my eyes. I was almost certain that the same three words were on the tip of her tongue that were on mine, but neither one of us uttered them. I took her hand and led her to my truck, still silently looking into each other's eyes. 

She came inside the pack and ship place and watched as the six items were being weighed and measured. This was my third visit and the owner was especially accommodating. I told him about the positive remarks that we'd received about previous shipments, and he assured us that he would do his part to keep future remarks positive. 




Distribution Ch. 09



Paige wanted to pick up a few things at the grocery store. When we returned to the house the telephone was ringing and it continued to ring all afternoon. Most of the calls were from townspeople who had read Miss Adams' article. Many of them had known Mackey and Elsie, but were surprised to learn that Mackey had been in the battle for Iwo Jima. Others wanted to know when the book would be out. 

Paige and I took turns answering the phone. She just happened to take the first of two calls that were quite disturbing. I saw her frown as she looked my way, questioning what the caller was saying. She offered to share the receiver with me. I was not surprised to hear Mrs. McMahan's voice.

"I've done my best to shield my son from women like you, Mrs. Kindle, but he attracts your type like a magnet. I've always known that Gordon has that innocent, irresistible quality. He could have his pick of lovely young women. Why he lowers his standards is beyond me. It's always been a struggle, but up until now, I've been able to keep him pure."

Paige's mouth was open in astonishment. I put my arm around her and pulled her to me, smiling to show that I was amused by what we were hearing. Her lips formed a half-smile before looking shocked at Mrs. McMahan's next statement.

"You win, Mrs. Kindle. You've managed to allure my son into your wicked den of iniquity. I give up. You may have him. I only ask you to agree to one stipulation."

There was a pause, like Mrs. McMahan was waiting for a response from Paige. We looked at each other, shook our heads, and grinned at each other. 

"Yes, Mrs. McMahan? Please tell me what I am to agree to."

After clearing her throat, Gordon's mother said, "I pray that my son's fascination with you will be short lived. After my son is finished with you, after he adds you as a notch to his belt, you are to go away quietly. Do you understand my demand, Mrs. Kindle?"

Paige had a hard time answering the question with a straight face. "I understand, Mrs. McMahan."

"My son's indiscretion will be at your expense. You will not expect a monetary reward."

"Please rest assured, Mrs. McMahan, I will assume complete responsibility for your son's indiscretion. Thank you for calling. It's been lovely talking with you."

I would have liked to hear Mrs. McMahan's response, but the receiver was already in its cradle. Paige turned to me. "Do you believe that?"

"I'm surprised at the restraint you showed. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had lashed out and set her straight."

"It's more fun this way, don't you think?"

I agreed with her and we only had time for a brief kiss before the telephone rang again. The caller wanted to know how he could acquire one of Mackey's collectibles that had been mentioned in the article. I told him that we were listing everything on eBay and he said he would bid on the whirl-a-gigs. 

The next call was like a knock-out punch. Janice Whitney said that I'd been summoned to Judge Claudia Lockwood's courtroom on Monday morning to answer charges of misappropriating the estate funds. "Mr. Nelson is not available to accompany you on Monday. He suggests that you go armed with meeting minutes, voting records and complete financial statements."

"Shit!" I blurted out.

"I know this caught you off guard, Brian. Judge Lockwood is fair and reasonable. She's bound by the law to hear both sides of this complaint."

"Who lodged the complaint?" I asked, already knowing it was Gordon McMahan and Nancy Dickens. 

"The judge wouldn't say who it was. I'll see what I can learn before tomorrow night. We'll discuss it then," Janice said. 

For the second time that day, a telephone call had sent us into a state of shock. We ignored the ringing phone and concentrated on plotting our defense. First, we worked on producing the items Janice had suggested that I take with me. While Paige reconstructed the meeting minutes, I updated the financial statements. Next, we tried to predict the charges leveled against me. 

Paige maintained that I was the only one called to appear before the judge because Gordon wanted to protect her from having to answer the Judge's questions. She offered to go with me, but I knew she would be cramming five days of work into four as it was and insisted that I would go before the judge alone. 

Our lovemaking was lukewarm that night. I blamed myself, saying my mind was elsewhere. Paige said we were just going through the motions. "It will be better tomorrow," she said, but we didn't have to wait that long.

It must have been near daylight when I felt her body shaking. Concerned, I drew her to me. She wouldn't or couldn't stop shaking. 

"What's wrong?" I whispered. 

"Did you hear that silly old lady? She made me agree to go away quietly after her son adds me as a notch on his belt."

Paige's body began shaking again, and that got me to shake with her. Suddenly, I was wide awake and realizing that my cock was stabbing her in the tummy, I tried to pull back. She became aware of my hard-on at that same moment. Her body stopped shaking and she became intent on moving the head of my cock up and down her slit. 

"Want to?" she asked in a seductive voice that I couldn't resist. 

She soon had me fully inserted and on top of her. For once, she was content to let me move at my own pace. And this time, I was able to keep my mind focused on the task as hand. 

"I love this feeling," she whispered.

"I love you," I said, stopping momentarily before continuing to slowly fuck her.

I'd meant to say that I loved this feeling, too, but I couldn't very well correct what I had said, could I? If she heard me say that I loved her she didn't let on, but after we were finished, cleaned up, and back in bed, she wanted to make out. I don't know which one of us went to sleep first, but when we woke up she was on top of me and her cheek was pressed to mine.

With daylight, the enormity of my appearing in front of the judge returned. We went over everything, making sure that the meeting minutes matched our memories as to when each topic had been discussed. 

Paige eventually tired of my gloomy outlook. "I'm going with you to see the judge. Janice says she's fair and reasonable. I'm going to tell her about the sacrifices you've made and how hard you've worked. None of the rest of us has your knowledge and experience. You've been the leader from the beginning."

I didn't argue with her. In fact, I was glad that she had decided to go before the judge with me. We got dressed for dinner, stopped for wine and arrived at the Whitney home just as Fred and Nadine were getting there.

Again, the girls wore long dresses and were braless while the guys were in casual clothes. I wore the only sweater I'd brought with me and my new coat. 

Harold had renovated the old house, but he said it would never be finished. The bathroom fixtures were original, as was the kitchen sink. The dining room table was located between the open kitchen and a hearth, where a single log warmed the room. 

I could tell that something was not right between Janice and Harold. She hinted at what was bothering her until he blurted it out. "My son will be eighteen next month. Janice says I've fulfilled my obligation according to the divorce decree, but the kid is in college and needs my help more than ever now."

"We're in the same situation, only Fred's daughter will soon be twenty-one. I say that a loan is the answer, but my husband thinks his little girl is above going into debt to get her through the rest of her senior year."

This opened the floodgates and the other two couples were soon embroiled in a shouting match. In a way, I was glad that my date with the judge didn't come up until the others tired of arguing. 

When Janice did bring up my court appearance everyone was sympathetic. Paige told them that she was going with me to see the judge, and everyone agreed that I had nothing to worry about if Paige was going to be at my side. 

We changed the subject to Miss Adams' newspaper article and how many people had called wanting to know more about Mackey and Elsie. "You would be surprised how many callers wanted to purchase one of Mackey's collectibles. I had to tell them that everything that is left is being offered on e-Bay," I said.

Harold spoke up. "Brian, have you checked the attic? You never know what you'll find from past generations."

"I haven't been in the attic. I don't even know how to get up there," I admitted and Harold took that as an opportunity to pay me back for the help I'd been in his securing work. He insisted that he would stop by on Sunday morning. Seeing his need to repay me, I couldn't refuse his offer.

The conversation returned to my appearance before the judge. "We still don't know who lodged the complaint that you are misappropriating estate funds," Janice said.

Paige and I exchanged a look before she said, "Yes, we do."

She described how Gordon McMahan had tried to assure her that it had not been his intention to cause trouble for Paige. We later put two and two together and decided that he blamed Ms. Dickens for complaining to the judge about me. She went on to tell about his mother's telephone call. Paige repeated Mrs. McMahan's side of their conversation word for word and soon had us all laughing hysterically. Everyone agreed that it was the perfect conclusion to a fun evening. 

"Tonight was good for you," Paige said as we drove to the house. "There's nothing like a good laugh to relax you."

I had to admit that I felt better about going before the judge on Monday morning. "There's something very relaxing about anticipating when a boob is going to pop out of one of those dresses you girls wear."

Paige expressed shock. "Mr. Driver, did you think I would pop a boob?"

"Not you, but Nadine came close to exposing one of her boobs a couple of times."

"Would it have relaxed you if it happened?"

"Not really, but I'll be very relaxed when I take that dress off of you tonight."

"Mr. Driver, I want you to be relaxed."

Paige was serious and she proved it. We were having a late breakfast when we heard Harold's truck pull into the driveway. 

We made a dash for the upstairs bedroom to put on clothes appropriate for a Sunday morning. When we came back to the kitchen we found Harold and Janice sitting at the table, having coffee.



Distribution Ch. 10



Chapter 10: A Discovery in the attic and a letter 

We dashed upstairs to change into clothes appropriate for a Sunday morning. Paige removed the short robe and reached for her panties, but I was too quick for her. 

"Brian, we can't."

I rubbed her warm tummy from behind, letting her feel my cock poke through the front of my shorts. "You excite me."

"Brian, there's no lock on the door. They'll walk in on us."

"They wouldn't dare," I said, feeling a breast in one hand and cupping her pussy with the other one. 

"Oh, Brian," she said, turning her lips to accept my kiss.

"Maybe you're right. We wouldn't have time," I said.

She brushed my hands away and turned to face me. "That's cruel. You get a girl excited and make her think that she's going to get lucky, and then you chicken out."

It had been a dumb thing to do and I was embarrassed. "I'll make it up to you later," I promised. 

She blushed and grinned at me as she stepped into her panties. "I'll hold you to it."

We finished dressing and I waited while she brushed her hair before we went downstairs. Harold and Janice were seated at the table, having coffee. She teased us unmercifully, but Harold was all business. I followed him through the upstairs rooms as he searched for the entrance to the attic. We didn't find one.

"Sometimes the old timers put it on the outside of the house," he said. 

I would never have found it, but Harold pointed out the entrance to the attic. It was tucked in next to the chimney. I figured that with the tall ceilings, and the two feet of the fieldstone foundation exposed, the small entrance to the attic was about twenty-four feet off the ground. He got the tallest ladder he had off his truck and climbed up to the entrance. He had some difficulty removing the cover because the six screws that held the cover in place snapped in two as soon as he tried to unscrew them.  

Harold eventually freed the cover and brought it down the ladder. "It's been a long time since anyone has had the cover off. There are wasp nests and cobwebs up there," he said, going to his truck and returning with wasp spray and a flashlight. 

I watched him climb the ladder and fit his body through the narrow opening. "Come up here, Brian. The place is loaded with stuff," he yelled, triumphantly. It had been his idea to check the attic to see what may have been stored there. 

"Be careful, Brian," Paige said to me as I made my way up the ladder. At ten feet up, I looked down to see her watching me. At twenty feet, her head was tipped back. Four more feet and I hoisted my right knee to the attic floor and used both hands to spring my body inside the opening. 

The attic was packed with junk, some of which had been there for centuries. We worked all morning to clear everything out, using a rope to lower the larger items to the ground and taking turns carrying the small, fragile items down the ladder. 

When we reached the ground we were covered with cobwebs and dust. Harold took pity on me and went back up to attach the cover with six new stainless steel screws. 

Paige and Janice were using the vacuum cleaner to blow the accumulated dust off everything. Paige blew the cobwebs off of me and Janice used the vacuum cleaner on Harold. 

We separated our find into three stacks, one that could be repaired, another that could not be identified and a third stack that was destined for the dump.

I theorized that Mackey had never been in the attic and Harold confirmed my theory, saying the rusted out six screws had probably been there for fifty years.

"That devalues this junk," I said. "People won't pay for something that Mackey never knew was in his attic."

"Who says we have to tell them?" Paige asked. "We found it in his attic; therefore, it belonged to Mackey whether he knew it was there or not."

"Are you suggesting and we practice deception?" I asked, and watched her raise her eyebrows in a 'what-I-would-do-to-you-if-they-weren't-here,' way.

"Paige is right. Technically, Mackey was the owner of all this junk," Janice said, and Harold was quick to agree with his wife.

Charlie must have been watching us from his kitchen window. He sauntered over as he often did.

"Ah, here's the ethics expert," I said, welcoming Charlie to the discussion. "Would you say that we could pass this junk off as Mackey's possessions even if he didn't know it was in the attic all along?"

Charlie looked from me to Paige, and then to the other couple. He scratched his chin before muttering his first words. "Why do you refer to it as junk? That's a fine old apple peeler and someone could use the butter churn as a planter. I'll fashion a lid for the crock. You're not going to discard these snowshoes, are you?"

I could see that he was not going to pass judgment on the ethics question. If Charlie knew that he'd convinced me not to deceive anyone, he didn't show it. He was busy pawing through the stack that we had destined for the dump. 

"The stuff we found in the attic is better suited for the antique dealers. I'll offer Mackey's scale collection and some of the whirl-a-gigs to the callers who want something he owned," I said, and drew agreement from Paige, Harold and Janice. I guess they were relieved that we wouldn't need to deceive anyone. 

Harold and I carried most of the items into the house and Charlie took the things he said he could repair to his house. 

After a quickly prepared lunch, Harold and Janice left and we were alone.

"Brian," Paige said when she saw me looking at her. She had a frightened look in her eyes, but I knew she was pretending. 

"Brian, you're filthy," she was breathless now, backing away as if she wanted to fade into the woodwork. I moved slowly, stalking her until I'd backed her into a corner.

"Brian, what are you going to do to me?" she asked in a whisper that frightened even me. 

"I'm going to make you happy that you know me. I'm going to make you shout my name from the rooftops."

My face was two inches from hers, but I hadn't touched her. She had her arms at her sides, doing nothing to protest my advances.

"Brian, I need to know exactly what you're going to do to me."

There was fear in her voice, but I knew she was really toying with me, showing absolute trust. 

"I'm going to throw you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs."

"Brian, that sounds...hmmm...delightfully manly, but do you think you should do that? You might hurt your back."

"After we get in the room I'm going to toss you on the bed and rip off your clothes."

"Brian, you will be careful, won't you?"

"Once you're completely naked, I'm going to kiss the inside of your thighs until you beg me to stop."

"You won't roll the flabby parts between your lips and remind me that I have thick thighs, will you?"

I didn't respond because we both knew there were no flabby parts on the inside of her thighs. She was a city girl who walked everywhere and ran to catch the subway when she needed to. 

"I'm going to blow hot air on your pubic hair and make you beg me to part your lips with my tongue."

"So far, you make it sound...ordinary. When do we get to the good part?"

"I'm going to flick your clit, unmercifully." 

"Ah, torture. I'm liking this better all the time."

Was she laughing at me? "I'm going to make you wish you'd never met me."

"Brian, if you don't carry me upstairs this instant, I'm going to pee my panties."

I threw her over my shoulder and was halfway up the stairs when she asked. "You won't forget to let me put my diaphragm in, will you?"

Now it was my turn to be the tease. "Who said anything about us having intercourse?"

"You didn't say anything about taking your shirt off either, but I hope you will because it's filthy."

I opened the bedroom door and tossed her in the middle of the bed. I was trying to disguise the fact that I was winded. She put her arms up, possibly to give me a breather.

"Brian, don't start this unless you plan to fuck me."

"I'll take off my clothes while you go after your diaphragm," I said.

She smiled, broadly, and lifted her feet for me to remove her shoes. 

We stayed in bed for the rest of the day, making love, touching, exploring, and putting everything else out of our minds. How we made it until dusk without expressing our love for each other I'll never know. 

We went downstairs to find an envelope on the floor near the backdoor where it had been tossed. The envelope contained a thank you letter from the Food Pantry. It was addressed to me, care of the Peoples' estate and spoke of how timely the receipt of the three thousand dollar check had been. There was also a note from Nadine saying that the letter might be useful the next day.

After an afternoon of lovemaking we were not anxious to return to the bedroom. I guess we wanted something to take our minds off meeting Judge Lockwood. We gravitated to the game table, set up the chess pieces and started a game without talking about our plans.

Paige was quite good. She beat me soundly in thirty minutes, but it took her much longer the second time. It was midnight when we trudged upstairs.

"Do I need my diaphragm?" she asked.

I don't know why her question struck me as funny. It may have been the way she was standing next to the bed, waiting to find out if she should pull the covers back and get in or go into the bathroom. It may also have been that my cock was tired from the afternoon marathon and I was sure I couldn't perform. 

"What's funny?" she asked.

"For the first time in my life, I'm sexually drained. Get in bed, Paige."

She joined me at the middle of the bed and let me hold her close for a minute before her head swung back. 

"We won't have time in the morning and I don't know if I'll be able to take next Friday off. I'm warning you that this may be your last chance for a long, long time."

"Paige, please don't let this offend you, but right now I don't care how long it is."

"Okay, but I put my money on Wednesday."

"What does that mean?" I asked. My hand was on her ass and she was snuggling against me. I felt her breath on my cheek when she spoke. 

"On Monday and Tuesday you'll talk about everything except sex, but on Wednesday you'll ask me what I'm wearing and if I'm touching myself."

"Paige, I've never asked if you were touching yourself."

"On Thursday, you'll beg me to catch an early bus on Friday and I'll tell you that I'll try to get away early. You'll be waiting at the bus station with your tongue hanging out. Brian, we've been lucky so far, but next weekend may be when I have to tell you that I have my period. Are you sure you don't want me to put my diaphragm in?"

"Your money is on Wednesday. You'll lose. I'll want you to leave early on Friday, but it will be Saturday morning before I'll be in the mood for sex."

"We'll see," she said in a sleepy voice.

"Paige, there's something I need to tell you."

"Not now," she whispered, sounding like she was talking in her sleep.

We rolled out of bed at ten minutes after nine, which meant we had fifty minutes to get to the courthouse. I ran downstairs to find Nadine making coffee and ran back upstairs to hear Paige cursing, something about ripping her stockings. I cut myself shaving.

We gathered our meeting notes, cut the Monday morning meeting short, and left the house with a cup of coffee in our hands and a slice of toast in our mouths. Nadine told us to relax and that she would lock the house. As I backed out of the driveway, I saw Gordon McMahan drive by the house. I couldn't be certain, but it looked like he had Ms. Dickens with him. 

We made it to the courthouse at two minutes until ten and when we got inside the clock read one minute past. A clerk met us in the hallway, told us that the judge was hearing a case and that we were to meet her in her chambers. 

We waited for over thirty minutes for the judge to join us. By that time, Paige had adjusted my tie seventeen times, and I had assured her that her hair was in place twelve times. She looked stunning, wearing the business suit she'd arrived in on Thursday night. We'd stood up and sat down more times than I could remember.

"Mr. Driver," Judge Lockwood said to me as she breezed into the room. "And I assume that you are the other defendant," she said, looking at Paige as she shook my hand. Claudia's handshake was firm, but her eyes were soft, reminding me of my own grandmother. Her hair was graying, but she had been a natural blonde in the not too distant past. She peered at us over half-glasses.

"Mrs. Kindle and I are equal members of the distribution committee," I said without referring to the Peoples' estate. The judge took her seat behind her desk, but did not motion for us to sit down. 

"The pair of you have been charged with monopolizing the voting for motions you want to control. I believe the term Ms. Dickens used was that you are 'ganging up' on the other members."

"That's true, your Honor. I won't deny that we are often of one mind. There is no malicious intent, however, our votes are based on what we feel is the best method of collecting and distributing the estate funds."

"Distribution of the funds is one of the complaints. Do you have plans for the public library and the church to receive a pittance in the near future?" 

Paige and I looked at each other, aghast. If it hadn't been for the judge's demeanor, it would have been comical. I leafed through my papers until I found the one I was searching for. 

"This is a tentative schedule of distribution," I said, handing the paper to the judge. "As you can see, it shows the dates when we anticipate funds to be available, and subsequent distributions to be made."

The judge was quick to point out that a distribution of one hundred thousand had been made two weeks before. "Why haven't the library and the church received their share of that distribution?"

"That's an oversight on my part, your honor. I was under the impression that Ms. Dickens and Mr. McMahan would want to collect the checks and turn them over to the organizations they represent. I'll deliver the checks to the library and the church as soon as we're finished today."

"I don't understand," the judge began, in an insistent voice that sounded nothing like my grandmother. "Why haven't you handed the checks directly to Ms. Dickens and Mr. McMahan?"

"They've stopped attending our Monday morning committee meetings and they no longer show up for our work days. Mr. McMahan drives by the house each Monday morning, but he doesn't stop."

Judge Lockwood waved her hand, dismissively, like she hadn't heard what I'd said. "There's also a complaint about the work assignments. Mr. McMahan feels that sweeping the basement floor is beneath him. What do you have to say about that, Mr. Driver?"

"I'm guilty as charged, your Honor. I don't know what Mr. McMahan does for a living, but it has never included sweeping. I did ask him to sweep the basement floor, but when I discovered that he didn't know what he was doing, I took turns sweeping after I cleaned the windows."

"I have an affidavit to the contrary, Mr. Driver. Ms. Dickens states that Mr. McMahan was forced to breathe polluted air while you took your time washing the windows."

I didn't know if I should laugh or curse. Apparently, Paige was torn also. She tapped the heel of her shoe on the wooden floor, which worked well to get the judge's attention. 

"That's laughable, Ma'am. It's also hearsay. Ms. Dickens would have had no way of knowing what took place in the basement that day. Brian...ah, Mr. Driver is working seven days a week to make the distribution as efficient as possible. Show the judge your construction schedule, Honey."

I fumbled to find the schedule as Paige continued. "Mr. Driver is the only one of us who is working on the estate full time. He's miles away from his business and his family. His children are ages six and nine and their mother passed away two years ago. The rest of us would be lost without Brian. He's experienced in construction and his intuition regarding the disbursal of assets has been superb."

The judge looked perplexed as she accepted my construction schedule. 

"Enough, Mrs. Kindle. I hear rare admiration in you voice for this man. I only have one more question for you, Mr. Driver. This concern arrived late on Friday."

We watched as she unfolded a sheet of paper. "Is it true that there is a book in the offing, and if so, do you intend to profit personally from the proceeds?"

I was livid to think that Ms. Dickens had lodged such a petty complaint. I looked at Paige, forced a smile and shook my head. "There will be no book. Mrs. Kindle and I considered using the love letters between the Peoples in a book, and we must have given Miss Adams the impression that a book was forthcoming. We've since decided to abandon that idea. The newspaper article that was published last week generated substantial interest among townspeople. Many of the callers wanted to know if they can purchase items from the estate. We hope to capitalize on that interest by offering collectibles for sale. We plan to maintain the level of interest by supplying Miss Adams with material for future articles, but the love letters are not for sale. They are too private in nature. We'll offer the public Mackey's description of his part in the war and his hospital stay. He was a fine writer and a good person."

Judge Lockwood was making notes on the paper. Afterward, she folded it, tucked it into a folder and looked at us for a solid minute before speaking. 

"Mr. Driver, I'll keep your tentative schedule of distribution and your construction schedule. I'll expect a report from you each time you deviate from either schedule. If you will deliver the two distribution checks to my clerk, I will personally hand them over to Ms. Dickens and Mr. McMahan. Their attendance at future committee meetings will be left to your discretion, but you are to deliver all distributions to the organizations they represent to me. It will be my pleasure to have a word with them when I place the checks in their hands. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Paige and I said in unison.

The judge was looking at one of the schedules I'd given her. "I count ten more distributions of one hundred thousand dollars each. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Ma'am, that is correct, but with certain contingencies. The schedule does not include the sale of the house because it is impossible to estimate what it will fetch in this market. The last distribution may need to be adjusted if the estate tax turns out to be greater than we've provided for, the proceeds from the stock are best estimates, and only yesterday we discovered an attic full of antiques that may or may not be valuable." 

"I would like to commend you on your preparation for this hearing," the judge said before taking on her grandmotherly veneer. "You're totally immersed in this project, aren't you, Mr. Driver."

I smiled at Paige; she smiled back.

"Is there anything else in that folder that you would like for me to have?" the judge asked.

"There is one thing, your Honor," I said, quickly finding the letter from the Food Pantry. 

She glanced at the letter and thanked us for coming, effectively adjourning the hearing. 

We were in the truck and headed to the bus station before either of us spoke. I was somewhere between being infuriated at Ms. Dickens, and elated at the outcome of the hearing. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" I asked.

"I'd love to be a fly on the wall when she brings Ms. Dickens in for a chat," Paige laughed.

"I'm glad you were with me today."

"Why were you apologetic about not chasing Nancy and Gordon down to force them to accept the checks?"

"I got my point across. She commended me for being immersed in the project."

"When did you drop the idea of us doing the book?"




Distribution Ch. 10



"It made me livid to hear Ms. Dickens assertion that we might profit from Mackey's and Elsie's love letters. Can you fathom the workings of that woman's mind? I wanted to assure the judge that profiteering was not the motivation for us considering to do a book. Anyway, who knows if there would have been a profit? Hiring a ghost writer would be a risky step. Also, those letters are too private to be made public."

Paige was stroking my cheek. "I agree with you."

The bus was about to pull out when we came to a stop. Paige jumped out of the truck, blew me a kiss and said that she would phone me later. The driver opened the door and I watched her disappear as the door closed behind her. 

Our nightly telephone conversations were a tug-of-war. They began innocently, but I was always on the alert to avoid asking what she was wearing or if she was touching herself. It became a game. We would start with a catch-up session, what we'd done that day, who we'd spoken to or exchanged e-mail with. I was busy and I could tell that she was too. 

Invariably, she would change the subject, like she was not interested that I was being inundated with questions from antique automobile buffs. 

On Wednesday, I was able to sidestep the question about what she was wearing by informing her that I was ready to make the second distribution. "Shall I mail your dad's check or wait and give it to you on Friday?"

"I'm not going to be able to come until Saturday morning, and I'll pick up the check then," she said. 

"What?" I asked, flabbergasted. "I have antique dealers coming on Saturday to bid on the stuff we found in the attic. Nadine begged off working that day because her stepdaughter is going to be here."

"I'm sorry, Honey. Mona has a dance recital on Friday night and I promised to be there. I'll catch an early bus on Saturday."

"I'll see if Charlie will help me," I said, thinking out loud. 

"I'm really sorry to let you down, but this is important to Mona."

"I understand," I said and I did. What kind of activities was I missing seeing my own kids perform in?

We talked again on Thursday, and the subject of what she was wearing didn't come up. Paige was more interested in what I was hearing from home and my sister.

"Have you spoken to Henrietta?" she asked. I told her that I hadn't.

"Did you deliver the most recent distribution checks for the library and the church to the judge's office?"

"Not yet. I'll write all the checks tomorrow and drop the two checks off to the judge's clerk late in the day."

"That's devious. Gordon and Nancy won't get their hands on the checks until sometime on Monday."

"Gee, I hadn't thought of it that way," I said, and heard her giggle. 

Her call on Friday came late, after the dance recital. I told her that there was no need for her to catch the early bus because Nadine had agreed to help out after all.

"I'll take the eight o'clock and be there by nine-thirty," she said.

"Don't be surprised if I send Charlie to meet you. The dealers are coming at nine."

~

As it turned out, I didn't send Charlie. Nadine had parked her car in back of my truck so it was more convenient for Matilda to drive her stepmother's car.

Matilda, or Tilley as she preferred to be called, was the twenty-one year old daughter of Fredrick Meriwether. Like her father, she was tall and outgoing, and unlike her father, her hair was dark.

Nadine was stationed outside, registering the dealers and sending them inside in groups of three. Charlie stood behind a table where the items he had repaired were on display. He explained what he had done to each item, the materials he had used and often got into long discussions with interested dealers as to the period of the item. 

The dealers were the same ones that had been there before so they knew the routine. I handed out clipboards that had a listing of the items in the same numerical sequence that they could be found in the living and dining rooms. 

We were ushering the second group of dealers into the house when Tilley returned with Paige. "What do you want us to do?" she asked.

"Tilley is going to serve lemonade and cookies to the dealers waiting outside. I'd like you to stand near me so I can put my arm around you."

Paige looked into my eyes, touched my cheek, and stuck her tongue out at me before leading Tilley into the kitchen to find the lemonade and cookies. She then helped Tilley carry everything outside. I didn't see her again until I was calling the winning bidders inside to settle up. We did very well. All in all, it turned out to be a successful day. Moreover, the dealers left happy, telling me that they would like to be called if I ran across any more antiques. 

As I learned much later, Paige had entertained the dealers by describing how Harold had located the opening to the attic and how he and I had worked in the wasp infested attic to collect and lower the antiques. According to Nadine, Paige had made it sound like I'd performed acrobatics in order to bring the fragile antiques to ground level.

Before she and Tilley left for the day, Nadine said it was their turn to entertain and that we should meet at a local steakhouse at seven.

"Now, what was that about me standing close so you could put your arm around me?" Paige asked after everyone was gone.

I pulled her to me. Her kiss was soft and slow. Her eyes were closed, but they opened wide when she heard what I had to say. "I wanted to put my hand on your ass, but you preferred to go outside and put on a show for the dealers."

"What did I warn you about?"

"Your period?"

"Yes, and it's a gusher. It must be all the sex we've been having."

"Let's go upstairs," I said.

"Brian, did you hear what I just told you?"

"We'll have to find something else to do. I suggest that we talk. I have some news, but first, I want to hear about the dance recital."

We lay on the bed, facing each other and Paige began. . 

"I enrolled Mona in a ballet class to give her a sense of achievement. I learned last night that dance lessons were a big mistake. My daughter is so far behind the rest of her class that she'll never catch up," Paige said, making it sound funny, but I could tell that Mona's inability to keep up with her class was disturbing to her.

"I'm glad you went to watch her dance."

"I hated it that I couldn't be here with you, but it's a good thing I was there. This was her first time to perform in public. She wants to quit the class. I told her to give it some time."

"You did the right thing. She may improve so fast that it will surprise both of you."

"Sure," she said, sarcastically. 

"Would it help if I was to talk to her?"

Her eyes glazed over, and her lips engulfed mine. "Would you, Brian? She'd listen to you."

"I'll speak to her tomorrow."

"Tell me your news," she said, pushing her body to a respectable distance.

"The telephone rang about seven last night and I thought it would be you. This old dude says, 'this is Corporal Ramsey. Is this the fellow that found Sergeant Peoples' letters?'"

"I told him that I was the fellow and Corporal Ramsey broke down. His granddaughter came on the line and told me that they were calling from Denver where Miss Adams' article had appeared in the newspaper that day. The Corporal's voice came back, 'I didn't know he outranked me. He didn't look like any Sergeant I had seen. He didn't sound like a Sergeant either, but by God, I owe everything that happened to me after that to him.'"

"The Corporal's voice faded and the granddaughter told me his story. Her name is Mary Jo and her grandfather makes his home with her and her family. He's eighty-nine and has a myriad of health problems. Mary Jo told me that she just happened to find the newspaper article and that she was reluctant to tell her grandfather about it at first, because she knew how it would affect him."

"Why wouldn't he have known that Mackey was a Sergeant? Don't they wear stripes on the battlefield?" Paige asked.

"They didn't meet until they were in the same hospital ward and none of them wore stripes there. Corporal Ramsey said that he didn't find out that Mackey was a Sergeant until weeks later when an officer came into the ward looking for Mackey.

"But I'm getting ahead of the story. It seems that Mackey was helping other patients out anyway he could, mainly writing and reading letters for them. He approached Corporal Ramsey to ask if he would like help writing a letter to his family or his girl. The Corporal brushed him off, saying that he had neither a family nor a girl. Mackey persisted, suggesting that they write a letter to an imaginary girl. The Corporal dismissed this idea as lunacy, but Mackey already had the letter started. He even chose the fictitious girl's name, Mary Jo."

"No way, that's the same name as the granddaughter," Paige said.

"Yes, she was named for her grandmother. Listen to this. The Corporal said that every time his hand ached he would take the letter out and imagine what Mary Jo looked like. He said it got him through a lot of sleepless nights."

Paige eased forward to plant a kiss on my lips. "Don't tell me he went home and looked for a girl named Mary Jo."

"He was discharged and naturally lost track of Mackey. As you recall, Mackey and Elsie were in Denver in the seventies, but I guess Corporal Ramsey wasn't much of a newspaper reader. He'd lost two fingers, but the granddaughter hinted that that was not the worst of it. She said he's been plagued with nightmares. He got a job in a machine shop and eventually convinced the foreman that he could handle a drill press. That was nineteen-fifty, the same year he met Mary Jo. After that meeting, he went back to school and eventually became a close-tolerance machinist."

"What an incredible story. Are you sorry that we've given up the book idea?"

"Here's the best part. Mary Jo is going to send me a copy of the letter. I haven't checked my e-mail today. Let's go look," I said, getting off the bed.

"You didn't finish the story. Who was the officer that was looking for Mackey?" Paige asked, as we walked into Mackey's room to fire up his computer.

"Corporal Ramsey said he knew the guy was an officer by the sound of his voice. He was also wearing a blue robe like some of the officers wore. He had a white cane and there was an orderly by his side. The officer yelled out in a booming voice, 'Sergeant Peoples.' Mackey was at the other end of the ward, helping a corpsman change a patient's bandage. He grabbed his crutches and hopped to attention, responding with, 'Colonel.'"

"Oh my, was that the Colonel who lost his sight?"

"Yes, he was actually a Lieutenant Colonel. Corporal Ramsey said every man in the ward did his best to stand at attention, until the orderly who was with the Colonel whispered something, and the Colonel barked the order, 'at ease.' Mackey headed toward the Colonel, but of course, the Colonel couldn't see this and shouted to Mackey that he had saved his life."

Mackey's chair was the only one in the room. This gave Paige an excuse to sit on my lap as I booted the computer.



Distribution Ch. 11



Chapter 11: Paige's Dilemma

We became so intrigued by the letter Mackey had written for Corporal Ramsey that we forgot to get ready to go to dinner. Paige watched me fold the letter Mackey had written to an imaginary girl and put it in my pocket. She didn't say anything, but we both knew that I would share the letter with our friends if the occasion arose. It was too good to keep under wraps. 

We found our little group in the bar, waiting for a table. Fred ordered drinks for us and a second round for the others, except Tilley, who was nursing her first gin and tonic. Nadine and Janice teased us about being late until they saw that Paige was wearing a bra. Her dress was black, buttoned to the neck, above the knees, putting her bare legs on display. I wore my only suit and the tie Paige had selected for me.

I sat next to Tilley and struck up a conversation, first thanking her for her help that day and then asking about her college studies. She confided that her dad wanted her to join him in his business, but that she would prefer to remain in school to pursue a Master of Science degree.

I got the impression that Nadine had told her about my being a widower. She seemed reluctant to inquire about my kids, but once she broached the subject, I told her some of the funny things that had happened, including Amanda finding the envelopes of cash in the roll top desk. I didn't know the others were listening to me until we moved to the dining room.

Nadine arranged us in girl-boy-girl fashion at a round table. I was seated between Tilley and Janice with Paige directly across the table from me. 

"How much cash was there?" Nadine asked.

"We never counted it."

This got the attention of everyone at the table and I had to explain how Peggy and I had paid off a mortgage in cash and how Amanda had discovered the envelopes we'd given Mr. Bennett in the desk. "We keep it locked in a safe in the basement and use it sparingly."

"How much is left?" Janice asked.

"I don't know. It's Amanda's job to bring me cash when I need it. I used the cash in about half of the envelopes to pay for a fire suppression system we installed in the old building I own."

"That's an awesome responsibility for a young girl," Nadine commented.

"Amanda is a responsible young lady. She wouldn't like it if she knew I was talking about our secret stash of cash," I said, becoming quiet when I pictured Amanda chewing me out for blabbing.

The server came to take our orders. The women wanted salad to start, followed by broiled codfish and a baked potato. Fred and Harold wanted steak. I considered the fisherman's platter for about fifteen seconds before settling for the codfish. The pleased look on Paige's face made me wonder if she had read my mind about the fisherman's platter. Was she going to start controlling my diet? I hoped not. Fred and Harold begrudgingly added salad to their orders and I also succumbed to the pressure. 

The server was filling the wine glasses when Paige explained the reason we'd arrived late. "Brian received a phone call from a soldier who knew Mackey," she said.

All eyes turned to peer at me. Even the server's curiosity caused him to tip the wine bottle back and wait for me to respond, but I didn't.

My attention was fixed on Paige. Had she mentioned the telephone call from Corporal Ramsey because she'd watched me fold the letter and put it in my pocket, knowing that I wanted to tell the others about it? This reminded me of the sort of things the mother of my children would have done. Had Paige taken on one of Peg's traits? It took prodding from Janice and the realization that the server was waiting for me to speak before I broke eye contact with Paige. Her lips parted in a knowing grin when she saw me turn my attention to Janice, who was repeating her question.

"Did the soldier know Mackey from that dreadful battle?"

I explained to the group how Miss Adams' article had appeared in a Denver newspaper, how Corporal Ramsey's granddaughter had recognized Mackey's name and helped her grandfather place the call. I related what the Corporal had told me about being in the same hospital ward with Mackey and how Mackey had gone out of his way to help everyone. 

"It was funny to hear the Corporal say that he didn't know that Mackey outranked him," I laughed, remembering how Corporal Ramsey's voice had become somber as he recalled an incident from the distant past. 

The salads arrived as I pulled the letter from my pocket and began reading it.

{Block}

September, 1945

Dear Mary Jo,

I know it will be some time before you receive this letter because I don't have your address. We haven't met yet, but I feel like I already know you.

You're soft. I mean that in a nice way. Don't get me wrong. You're not a softie. You don't fall for lines that wise guys throw your way. You're soft to the touch and you like soft things. You may not like me very well at first, but I hope that you'll come to have a soft spot in your heart for me. 

We're going to get along great because we want the same things, like a nice place to live and lots of children. 

I'm looking forward to our first meeting and getting to know you. Until then, don't fall for those lines from other guys.

Sincerely, 

Corporal Ramsey

{/Block}

As I folded the piece of paper I noticed that no one had touched their salad and the wine glasses were still full. The server sort of tiptoed away from the table.

After a few solemn moments the topic of conversation changed to which dressing to try on our salad, what we had done that day, how the search for a new Red Sox shortstop was progressing, and naturally, how the weather was changing. 

I was accustomed to speaking almost daily with Fred about the timing of stock sales, and I frequently stopped by to see how Harold was doing with a job, but both men avoided the subject of their work. It was the same with Nadine and Janice. This was a time for relaxation, a time to enjoy each other's company. 

There was some discussion about everyone's plans for Thanksgiving. Janice commented that my children would be happy to see me, and Nadine joined in, telling me to drive carefully. I noticed a cloud pass over Paige's face at the mention of me going home for the holiday.

We were well along with the main course when Tilley surprised me by imparting her knowledge of the battle for Iwo Jima. She spoke in a muffled voice, as if the subject would bore the others. She knew far more about the battle than I'd been able to find about it on the internet, or through Mackey's letters. She said that she would like to read the letters. I warned her that they were mainly love letters, with very little about the actual battle, but that I'd be happy to share them with her. 

Paige declined the offer of dessert, saying that she was full. I noted that her attention to the conversation had been detached since the mention of my being gone for a few days. I settled for just coffee, although I almost changed my mind when I saw the generous wedge of Boston cream pie being placed in front of Nadine. 

I could see that Paige wanted to leave. She looked tired, making me wonder if she had worked long hours in order to get away for the weekend. We thanked Fred and Nadine, said goodnight to Harold and Janice, and I made sure that Tilley knew she was welcome to stop by the house the next morning before she was to leave for school. 

Paige waited until we were entering the house before she broke the news.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking this week," she began.

"Aw Shit!" I said under my breath. 

"This will be the last weekend I come here." Her voice was just above a whisper, and there was a ring of finality that told me she was serious.

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"You heard me," she said. I'd seen that look of determination in her eyes before. Her mind was made up, but I had to try to change it. 

"Can we talk about this?"

"I told you that I've been doing a lot of thinking. We're from two different worlds, Brian. This isn't going anywhere. It can't. You'll be going home for Thanksgiving next week. We have to break it off sooner or later It will be better if it comes to an end now."

"I'll be coming back. There's the barn that...," I became quiet, knowing how lame I sounded. She was right. Work on the barn would not take long, and there would be no need for me to hang around after that. 

"We'll conduct business by email. You know I'll cast my votes to agree with your decisions. You'll have my full support to settle the estate as you see fit." With that, she turned and was halfway up the stairs before I fully digested what she'd told me. 

She had indeed done a lot of thinking. Everything she said sounded final, like there was no turning back. I turned out the lights and sat in the dark, letting my mind swirl, like tumbleweeds in one of those old western movies. When the wind stopped whirling, I considered the situation logically. 

Paige was not an impulsive person. I'd never known her to be swayed or to change her mind once it was made up. Still, she was in the middle of her period. Perhaps there was hope that this would be the exception.

I thought of our times together. The Red Sox game and her coming to me in her parents' dark living room were at the top of the list. We'd worked well together, had spirited discussions, but never a real argument. We'd had fun, too, laughed at things that happened and we'd shared events that took place when we were apart.

What had she meant by the statement, 'This isn't going anywhere?' Had she been waiting for me to suggest a way that we could be together after our work on the estate was finished? Come to think about it, why had I left the subject of our future submerged, just below the surface? I knew the reason; Peg had always rejected my proposals of marriage until I'd stopped bringing it up. Paige had heard all my stories. She must have known that rejection was a sore spot with me?

Was it that I'd been reluctant to tell her that I loved her? What was wrong with me? I knew that being loved was something all women wanted to hear. I resolved to correct that fault if I got the chance. 

Paige was on the far side of the bed. She's tired; things will be different tomorrow I thought, as I made sure to keep a space between us. 

The sound of my pickup starting awoke me. I got up to find fresh coffee made, and a note, 'gone shopping.' I don't know what caused me to check the cookie jar where we kept the money we'd found throughout the house. It was empty. That meant she had taken the last eighty bucks. 

Tilley arrived early, and we were reading Mackey's letters to Elsie when Paige came in carrying two bags of groceries. I went out to the truck and brought the other two bags in. It addition to the essentials, bread, milk and eggs, it looked like Paige had enough packages of meat and chicken to feed an army. 

I offered to make copies of the letters that had passages pertaining to the battle, and Tilley jumped at the chance to have them. When we came back downstairs, Paige was busy in the kitchen. 

After Tilley left, I told Paige that I was going to call Miss Adams to see if she wanted to hear about the phone call from Corporal Ramsey and to read the letter Mackey had written to the future Mrs. Ramsey. Thinking that she needed an explanation, I told Paige that I thought she should be there to witness what was said between myself and Miss Adams. When she didn't react one way or the other, I dialed Miss Adams' number, casually adding that we would talk later.

Miss Adams' visit was endless. She seemed reluctant to leave. She listened to what Corporal Ramsey and his granddaughter had told me, read the letter that Mackey had written, and then surprised me by wanting me to get the Corporal on the telephone so she could speak to him. 

If Paige was listening to us, she didn't show any interest in what we were talking about. She was busy in the kitchen, loading the oven with dishes of meat and the burners with pans of vegetables. 

As Miss Adams spoke to the old man, she typed furiously, making notes on her laptop. I noted that she was incredibly thorough, asking Mary Jo to interpret what her grandfather had said, laughing at times and tearing up at other times. Eventually, she handed the receiver to me, saying that Mary Jo wanted to speak with me.

"Please don't call here any more, Mr. Driver. Recalling the events of that war has taken its toll on my grandfather. He's completely worn out."

"I understand. Please thank him for speaking to Miss Adams. I do have one question before we hang up."

"What's that?"

"Do you mind if your grandfather's story is made public?"

Hearing my question to Mary Jo, Miss Adams waved at me, mouthing, "its okay."

Mary Jo confirmed that it was okay. "I've already told her that we don't mind if she publishes the letter and tells the story as my grandfather described what took place so long as she doesn't include his name. He doesn't want publicity. Recalling the battle and those weeks in the hospital strains his emotions to the breaking point."

I thanked her again and hung up.

"I told her that I'll feature Mackey Peoples and assured Mary Jo that I won't name the Corporal for whom the letter was written."

"Good," I said. "It's too bad he's lost track of the other patients in the ward." 

Miss Adams agreed with me, thanked me for sharing the letter with her, said goodbye to Paige, and left."

What followed were the most tense, disappointing thirty minutes of my life. I tried every way I knew to get Paige to supply reasons for terminating our relationship. She was busy washing the dishes and pots and pans she'd used to prepare my meals for what seemed like the next year. "It's an impossible situation," is all that she would say. She did however, tell me that she'd labeled each meal that she'd put in the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. 

I had an empty feeling as I drove her to the bus station, and I was almost certain that she felt the same. When she told me that I didn't need to wait for her bus to leave, this got me pissed off and I stubbornly left without so much as a goodbye kiss. 

The next week dragged by. I was in a funk, wondering how Paige could look adoringly at me across the table at dinner, and tell me it was over between us a couple of hours later. Was it something I said or did? I began to think it was something I didn't say or didn't do.

Our first communication was my email informing Paige that there would be no distribution that week. I felt it was necessary to explain the reason because distributions had been made each Friday for the last three weeks and her parents might be expecting the influx of new cash. I wrote that I was reserving funds for the refurbishment of the barn, which I expected to take place after Thanksgiving. This was Thursday evening. 

Janice called, inviting us to their house for Saturday night dinner. I reluctantly informed her that Paige wasn't coming for the weekend. I could tell that she was curious, but she didn't come out and say it. 

"That doesn't matter. You're not as much fun as Paige, but you'll be welcome anyway." 

I tried to hide the dejection in my voice as I told her that I would see how things went. She took that as a maybe and let me off easily. Not that Janice was a gossip, but playing it safe, I called Nadine on the pretense of alerting her to the fact that there would be no distribution this week. She said she understood my reasoning.

"Paige isn't coming this weekend so I'll see you guys after Thanksgiving," I said, trying to make it sound like an afterthought. 

Nadine lacked Janice's more refined social graces. 

"Why?" she asked, and when I sidestepped that question, she got down and dirty, going so far as accusing me of causing a breakup by cheating on Paige. Eventually, she saw that her questions were in vain, and told me to have a good trip. 

On Friday morning I received Paige's very curt reply to my email, 'I agree; you have my vote.' 

On Friday afternoon, I delivered an updated financial statement to the judge in accordance with her stipulation that I keep her informed if there was a change in the estate's financial picture. Nothing of significance had happened since my last report, but I made it look as if there had been. I attached a handwritten note to inform the judge why there would be no distributions until after the work on the barn was completed. 

On the way back to the house I picked up a copy of the local newspaper. Miss Adams' article began on the front page, with the letter Mackey had written, and continued on page seven with the story of how long it took the Corporal to meet Mary Jo, a sketch of their courtship, and a description of their life together. Miss Adams stayed true to her word, repeating what the Corporal had said about Mackey's role in helping everyone in the ward. She included my wish that we could get the stories of others who had benefited from Mackey's acts of kindness. She ended the article by thanking me for alerting her to the story, the letter, and for putting her in contact with the Corporal. 'Mr. Driver is in the process of disposing of the Peoples' personal and real property.' 

The telephone began ringing about the time I finished reading the article. Most of the calls were from people inquiring about the items I was selling, but there were two calls from realtors, making me wish Miss Adams had skipped the part about me disposing of the real property. An interruption made me turn in alarm. A very angry librarian burst into the house.

For the next ten minutes, I ignored the ringing telephone and listened to Miss Nancy Dickens rant. It soon became apparent that she'd learned that there would be no distribution until after the work on the barn was completed, but she had other issues, too.

I was momentarily distracted by the telephone going silent, but she quickly got my attention.

"Mr. McMahan and I are going to sue you for being incompetent."

I was mildly curious. What was their basis for my incompetence, and where was Mr. McMahan? Why wasn't he standing next to her? My bemused look clearly angered her. Miss Dickens' nostrils were flared. Her fists were clenched. I wondered if she bit her nails.

"Did you change your hair style, Miss Dickens? I like the way it's combed back on the sides. Gives it..."

My compliments were interrupted by a deep growl. "You've let an opportunity for a killing slip through your fingers. What were you thinking by turning that letter over to that reporter? The story was the estate's property. You gave a lucrative book away. We're going to make you pay for our losses."

She'd only patronizingly answered my question. "Where is Mr. McMahan?"

"Don't try to change the subject. He's working for the city if you must know."

"He got a job? What's he doing for the city?"

Ms Dickens had been standing with her feet firmly planted to the floor, about a foot apart. I pictured her on her back with Mr. McMahan between her legs. Was she a screamer, and was that Gordon's mother in the background, urging him to finish so he could take her shopping? The ringing telephone broke my reverie. 

"He's a flagman," she said, so softly that I had to verify what I'd heard. "A flagman?"

"The city is doing repair work over on Beach Street," she said, begrudgingly. 

"Let's drive over and watch him work," I suggested, adding, "I need to take a break from the phone."

"I shouldn't have told you what he's doing. Don't harass him," she said, almost begging me not to drive over to Beach Street and make fun of her boyfriend. The vision of him between her legs returned. I couldn't help it. 

"I'd like to hear how serious Mr. McMahan is about suing me. Have the two of you made your intentions known to Judge Lockwood?"




Distribution Ch. 11



"We haven't...Gordon hasn't...we...actually...he doesn't know how you let a lucrative opportunity slip through your fingers yet."

Several questions swirled in my head, like tumbleweeds in a windstorm. 'Is Mr. McMahan good in bed? Are you a screamer? Does his mother interfere when you become noisy?' Instead, I stopped short of calling her and Mr. McMahan freeloaders. 

"Don't change the subject. You've put me in bad light with the friends of the library by not making a distribution this week."

"Do the friends know that you haven't attended a meeting for weeks?"

Miss Dickens left abruptly, reminding me that I was about to be sued for incompetence on her way out the door. 

I was tempted to drive over to Beach Street and watch Gordon McMahan, the flagman, direct traffic, but I picked up the ringing telephone and took calls for the next three hours. I told the callers that there were very few possessions of Mackey and Elsie left, and that I would place an ad in the paper sometime after Thanksgiving.

On Saturday, I wanted to talk to friends and family. I called everyone I knew, almost. The kids were excited about having a few days off from school. I avoided telling them that I was coming home, wanting my short visit to be a surprise. I did tell Henrietta that I was planning to make the trip. She cautioned me to drive safely and said that she was looking forward to seeing me. I warned my parents not to expect a check in the mail. They were obviously disappointed, but accepted my decision.

The one person I wanted to speak with the most was unreachable. Paige's mother told me that she was out.

"Is there a message you want me to pass on, Brian?" Mrs. Peoples asked.

"Just that I'm enjoying the dinners she put in the freezer for me," I said.

On Sunday, I busied myself by packing my bags for my trip home. Later, I drove to the water and walked along the deserted beaches. The water was choppy, and clouds in the sky made me think a storm was coming in. I must have walked a mile before returning to my truck. 

Back at the house, the phone wouldn't stop ringing. I let it ring, becoming engrossed with the articles Mackey had written since his retirement. There were notes attached to the folders in Mackey's handwriting, indicating which newspaper had published the article or which paper had rejected it. I read the ones that had been rejected, trying to discern the reason for rejection. Mackey's writing was loaded with humor. 

At dusk, I closed the file cabinet drawer and went downstairs to see what I could find to eat, only to be startled by the ringing phone.

"Hello," I said without trying to hide the irritation in my voice.

"It's me."

Those two words told me everything. They asked if I was okay. They said that she was sorry. There was need and caring in those two words. She didn't need to say more. I didn't answer. The sound of my breathing would tell her that I was waiting anxiously for what was to follow.

"I wanted to...I want to wish you a safe trip. When will you be coming back?"

"There's no rush. Not much is happening here until the middle of December. That's when the barn guy said he will be ready to start the job. I thought I would come back the middle of next week to make sure the high bidder for the Oldsmobile gets his car out of the barn."

"If you do...I mean...if you come back next week, will it be all right if...I mean, if you don't mind...I was thinking of coming for the weekend...you know...to do my part...and..."

"I'll be back by Wednesday, if not before," I said, cutting her off.

"I've been thinking, and there are some things we need to talk about."

"I'd like that. Will you come on Friday?"

"That's what I'm planning...I mean...if you're sure it's okay?"

I assured her that I would be waiting for her call and she hung up without saying more. I didn't get a chance to tell her about Miss Dickens' visit and her vow to sue me for incompetence. It didn't seem that important at that moment.

Paige was coming for the weekend. She would be here next Friday and I was walking on air until Monday morning when the phone rang.

"Mr. Driver, this is Matthew Dawkins."

Matthew Dawkins was the contractor who had been recommended by the lady from the historical society. Mrs. Avery had practically insisted that I use him to square up the barn.

"Yes Sir."

"We've had a change in schedule. We'll set up on Friday and start the job on Monday. Is everything out of the barn?"

"Friday? You'll be here the day after Thanksgiving?"

"That's correct. Are those cars out of the barn?"

"Ah, the Studebaker is gone. The Oldsmobile will be out before you get here. Everything else is cleared out."

"Are you sure? I don't want to park the equipment there on Friday and find out one of those cars is still in the barn."

Squaring up the barn was the only thing standing in the way of putting the property on the market, and Matthew Dawkins was the only man who could make that happen. 

"The Oldsmobile will be out before you get here. This means the job will be finished by what, mid-December?"

"I estimated three weeks for the job, but don't put words in my mouth. It may take longer. It sure as hell won't take less time. We never know what we'll run into with these old structures."

I assured him that everything in the barn would be cleared out before Friday and Matthew Dawkins said he would be there before noon.

"Shit!" I said to myself as I dialed the number of the man who had placed the high bid for the antique Oldsmobile. In a way, this was the break I'd been looking for. If the construction was completed early it meant that I could leave. Still, Paige was coming for the weekend. Did that mean she'd continue to spend weekends with me? I was torn.

An answering machine informed me that his business would open at eight o'clock. That's when I remembered that it was still early on the west coast. 

Mr. Avila was some sort of electronics tycoon. His check had cleared, but he was taking his time picking up his purchase. I would need to light a fire under him. He returned my call a few minutes after eleven. I explained the situation and he explained his situation. He had been unable to locate the wheels and tires that would fit the car.

I bluffed, offering to return his check, saying that I would contact the bidder who had come in second. Mr. Avila reminded me that I'd told him that he had until mid-December to take possession of his purchase. He threatened to sue the estate if the car was not there when he got good and ready to pick it up. 

I appealed to his family instincts. 

"Mr. Avila, it's been months since I've seen my family and now it looks like I won't make it home for Thanksgiving. They're expecting me. What do I tell a nine year old girl and a six year old boy?" 

"Send them plane tickets. Have your wife bring them there for the holiday."

"I don't have a wife. Their mother died three years ago."

Silence on the line told me he must be thinking. "Find me four tires and wheels. Let me know when they're on the car. I'll be there in six hours after you call. Have a flatbed truck waiting when I get there," he offered.

I took that as his way of saying he was sorry for my loss. I wanted to do something to repay him. "Mr. Avila, I'll ship the car to you."

I'd only met the man the one time when he came to inspect the car and place his bid. I didn't like his abrupt personality, but I respected his achievements. "Mr. Driver, I'll take your word that your wife died three years ago, but it's imperative that I see that car loaded on the truck with my own eyes."

I got his cell and home numbers so I could reach him the minute I had the tires on the car and we said goodbye.

Now, all I had to do was find four tires for a nineteen-thirty-nine Oldsmobile, have them delivered and put them on the car. At least I'd been spared from having to tell Amanda and Phillip that I would not be home for Thanksgiving.



Distribution Ch. 12



It was ten days before Paige called again. 

"Brian, where are you?"

"I'm out by the barn."

"Good, you're back. I can be on the three-thirty if you would like to pick me up?" she asked, disregarding the significance of my being 'out by the barn.' It was obvious that she assumed that I'd returned from spending Thanksgiving with my family.

"I'll be there," I answered.

"See you then," she said, ending the call before I could find out how she was able to get away on Thursday afternoon instead of the customary later bus on Friday.

I'm sure that Matthew Dawkins was happy to see me leave my 'observation post,' which I'd occupied since he started the job of squaring up the barn the day after Thanksgiving. I practically ran to the house, shaved and showered, changed the bed and had time to tidy the house before meeting the three-thirty bus.

I was nervous as hell, and I could tell that Paige was nervous, too. We hardly spoke on the way to the house, grinning sheepishly at one another; both wondering what was going through the other's mind. 

She paid no attention to the snowflakes hitting the windshield, nor did she comment about the bus parked in back of the house. If she noticed the men and equipment that surrounded the barn, she didn't comment. Her heavy coat was unbuttoned before she reached the back door then she turned and dropped it to the floor as soon as we were inside the house. I dropped the small case she'd brought just in time to brace myself as she leapt into my arms. 

It happened so quickly that I didn't file it away to replay later. One second, her tongue was reaching for my tonsils, and the next, she was racing up the stairs, shedding her clothes along the way. I followed, still dazed by her strange behavior. 

I barely noticed how chilly it was in the room as I hurriedly stripped and joined her between the sheets. My attempts to lick her pussy were cut short by a painful tug on my hair. She didn't need to tell me what she wanted. From the way the lips of her pussy glistened, she'd been ready for some time. 

Mrs. Paige Kindle was impatient, insistent, and demanding. She reached for my cock and stuffed the entire length into her opening without a hitch. Thinking she needed a few seconds to adjust to the intrusion, I remained still. Her groan told me that she didn't need any time, and I quickly found myself on my back, being fucked by a mad woman.

It took me a minute to realize the enormity of the maneuver. The widowed mother of two had exhibited incredible strength with a move that would have scored points on any wrestling mat, regardless of the weight class. 

She was definitely having her way with me. Being used agreed with me. I took in the sights and sounds for future reference. The way her lips were set in a determined expression, the beads of sweat forming on her forehead, the way her breasts rolled like buoys on a choppy sea, the way the bedsprings complained, combined with Paige's halted breathing, and the sound of the distant jackhammer as it loosened the field stones of the old barn foundation were memories we'd tell our grandchildren about some day. 

She suddenly stopped bouncing and a smile came to her lips as I released my cum deep within her. She collapsed on me, laughing as she strained to catch her breath. 

We made love for the rest of the day. It was long after dark when we became hungry and went downstairs to get something to eat. That's when Paige heard the guys in the bus. She gave me a puzzled look. "I didn't think they were going to be here until the middle of next month?"

I brought her up to date while she cooked, making bacon, scrambled eggs, and toast.

"The contractor called to say there had been a change to his schedule and he would be here the day after Thanksgiving. I agreed to have that antique car out of his way, and that's when the fun started. The car was up on blocks, minus the wheels and the tires. The guy that bought the car had already paid for it and as far as he was concerned, he had two more weeks before it had to be moved. He was not inclined to forego the holiday with his family until I told him I was missing Thanksgiving with my family also. I pleaded with him, and he agreed to fly out here and take possession of his purchase if I would find the wheels and tires. 

"They still make the tires, but the wheels are a different story."

Paige interrupted me. "You didn't go? Amanda and Phillip must have been crushed. I wonder why Amanda didn't tell Mona. They still exchange email almost every day."

I shook my head. "Fortunately, I hadn't said anything to the kids. They didn't expect me to come home."

I watched her rush to me. "Honey, I feel so sad that you didn't go home," she said as her body melted into mine and our kiss nearly got away from us. If it hadn't been for the sound bacon makes when the heat is turned up too high, we would have started all over again right there on the kitchen floor. She broke away, started back to the stove, and turning, said. "Why didn't you call me? I would have come to help you."

"I wasn't the only one that missed out on spending the day with my family. I checked the ads on the internet with no luck. Everyplace I called had just sold the wheels they'd advertised. It was the same with Mackey's automobile magazines. Most of the dealers weren't sure what they had. They invited me to look around and see if I saw what I wanted. I didn't know what the wheels looked like. Charlie came to my rescue. He suggested that the spare tire may still be in the trunk. It was, and we spent two days driving from salvage yard to salvage yard trying to match the spare wheel. As a result, he missed having Thanksgiving dinner with his daughter and her family."

Paige turned the burner off and came back to me. "I wish you had let me know. It could have been me riding with you for those two days. I take it that you were successful?"

"We found three wheels that matched the spare at a place in western Connecticut. It was late on Wednesday night. I called Mr. Avila and told him we were on the way back. He flew here from the west coast on his private plane the next day. I picked him up in Hyannis and it was late on Thursday when we loaded the car on the truck. The trucker took off and we ended up having our Thanksgiving dinner right here. Mr. Avila and Charlie got along great."

"What did you make for them to eat?" Paige asked, watching me, mischievously 

"Scrambled eggs," I answered. "They were nothing like the eggs you make, but I opened a bottle of wine and we roughed it. I drove Mr. Avila back to the airport. He laughed about how much that car was costing him. A few days later I got a check in the mail for the tires and wheels I'd paid for."

"Do you have another bottle for us to have with these eggs?" she asked as she brought our two plates to the table. I did.

We smiled at each other as we ate, talking about everything except the main topic that was on our minds. 

"The contractor and his men showed up about noon on Friday. They parked that converted bus next to the house so they could use our electricity, and then they went to work on the barn. They work long hours and raise hell for about an hour before they retire for the night. Matthew Dawkins expects perfection, but he takes good care of his men. He feeds them well and gives them time off between jobs." 

I brought her up to date on how well Miss Adams' articles about Mackey were being received. I also told her about Nancy Dickens' charges that I was incompetent. We laughed together until Paige became enraged.

"She had no idea what you've been doing, how well you've performed or the sacrifices you've made to squeeze every dime out of this estate."

"She was pissed that there was to be no distribution until after the barn is finished. She seemed to think that I'd squandered what could have been a lucrative book by giving Miss Adams the story."

"I can't wait to have a word with that little bitch," Paige spat out.

"She needs to be made aware that prices of the junk from the attic have skyrocketed because of Miss Adams' articles. Townspeople are willing to pay anything for a piece of history."

"Let me at her. I'll make her aware," Paige said, but when I laughed she had to grin back at me.

We were in bed, holding each other, when she began to explain why she'd returned. "I told you that this thing between us isn't going anywhere, but I'm not sure I believed it. I was still holding out for something to change to make it possible for there to be more. It's not going to happen. We're from different worlds. I've come to terms with that, and I've decided to make the most of what is left of the time we have together. That's all it was to be from the beginning. As things progressed, it became harder and harder to give up on you."

"What changed?" I asked, thinking I knew the answer, but wanting to hear it from her.

"You touched me deeply," she responded.

I held her close and whispered in her ear, "I did get in deep a couple of times, didn't I?"

Paige stiffened, and pulled away, placing a hand on my chest to create distance between us. "What's wrong?" I asked.

She wouldn't answer.

"What's wrong?" I repeated.

"Not that, silly, you touched my heart," she said, becoming silent, still keeping distance between our bodies.

What a buffoon I'd been. Did I dare tell her that I loved her? Was it too late? "Don't you know what you mean to me? You've touched my heart, too."

That may not have been exactly what she wanted to hear, but it did the trick. She moved back to me, and we went to sleep that way. 

We awoke to the sound of the jackhammer. "Don't they ever stop?" Paige complained.

"I told you they work long hours. They should finish by the middle of the month."

"Is that when you plan on leaving?"

"I'll be back. We need to select a realtor and put the house on the market."

"And then your work will be done?"

"Paige, it doesn't have to be that way. We'll find a way to be together."

"There's no way and you know it. You have obligations to your children and you have a business to run. It's the same with me. My parents need me to be near."

This was turning into an argument and we hadn't had breakfast yet. The jackhammer was giving me a headache. "Can we drop the subject for now?"

"Yes, we can," she said, attempting a smile.

After breakfast, we went outside and I introduced Paige to Matthew Dawkins. He explained the process of raising the structure off of its foundation, although he didn't go into detail about the meticulous way he'd checked his level as the jacks lifted the building a fraction of an inch at a time.

I remarked that the jack hammering had stopped. Matthew told us that the next step would be placing the forms for the new foundation to be poured. "We take it slow because working under the building is dangerous. One wrong move and we'll have a disaster," he said.

Paige thanked the contractor, and I suggested that we take a walk on the beach. She wore her heavy coat and I put on a sweater under the jacket we'd bought the night we attended the Red Sox game. 

Paige let out a shriek the second she spotted Gordon McMahan. "You brought me this way on purpose, didn't you? You knew he was here," she accused, her voice one octave above its normal tone. 

Mr. McMahan was wearing a stocking cap and an orange vest over a yellow rain slicker. The city workmen were resurfacing one lane of the road, and there was not another car in sight. Gordon raised his hand, signaling me to stop. I rolled the window down as he approached the car. 

"Do you have business on this road, Sir?" he asked in his official flagman's voice.

"Does your mother approve of you being outside in this weather, Gordon?"

"Answer my question," he demanded in a stern voice.

"Mrs. Kindle and I decided to hold our weekly meeting on the beach. The contractor is making too much noise for us to meet at the gazebo. We have some important issues to discuss. You don't think the seagulls will eavesdrop, do you?"

"You may proceed on your way, Sir."

"Miss Dickens indicated that you are joining her in a lawsuit against me. Do you share her belief that I'm incompetent, Mr. McMahan?"

Gordon McMahan took one step backward and repeated, "You may proceed on your way, Sir."

Paige was out of her seatbelt and beating on me the moment we were out of sight of the roadwork. I'd never seen her so excited. Her fists pounded my chest and shoulder until I parked the truck and wrapped my arms around her. 

"You're mean and you're despicable," she said between kisses. It was several minutes before she tired and tucked her cheek next to mine. 

"You seem to be extremely excited. Was it me, or was it Gordon that affected you that way?"

In a quiet, calm voice, she continued. "It's you. I love the way you excite me. I love the way we make love. You're gentle and caring. I love being with you. I'll always remember our time together."

We walked the beach for an hour. We laughed and hugged, and stopped to gaze out at the sea. I tried to return to the subject of what Paige 'loved' about me, but she had another serious matter to discuss. 

"I cleaned out the cookie jar the last time I was here. We need to decide how we want to go about getting some money."

"I have the check Mr. Avila sent. It's for one thousand dollars. I only spent a little over six hundred," I offered.

"That's your money. We need to work out a way to charge the estate," she said.

It was decided that we would write expense reports. The trouble was that we had not saved receipts for our expenditures, nor could we remember the exact dates and the amounts. We didn't let that bother us. I phoned Mrs. Nixon and asked her to send a summary of the credit charges I'd made since I'd been here. We were able to calculate Paige's transportation expenses, making sure that the dates coincided with our meeting notes. Otherwise, we pulled random amounts out of the air. Once we'd included everything we could think of, I wrote checks on the estate, included the expense reports with the financial statement, and dropped it off at the judge's office on our way to the bank.

With a new supply of cash in the cookie jar, we went shopping. We bought gifts for our kids, a heavy coat for me, and I took Paige to dinner. 

That set the trend for the coming weeks that led up to Christmas. We didn't make reference to the short time we were to have together or count the days. Paige avoided the subject of what she 'loved' about me, and when she became melancholy, shopping for more gifts became her way of ridding her mind of the feeling. We also made time for the friends we'd made. 

Squaring up the barn took two weeks longer to complete than was originally estimated. 

Paige called on Friday, December the thirteenth. "You're still there!" she exclaimed in disbelief. 

"They have another week before they finish. There have been complications. Are you coming?"

After a few seconds of silence, she said she would call when she knew what time she would be there. I wasn't sure if she was happy or sad about me still being there, but when she got off the bus there was no mistaking her glee. There was no mistaking the long embrace and kiss she gave me. She was definitely happy. 

We had one more weekend together. It was Tuesday, December the twenty-fourth when Matthew Dawkins knocked on the back door. Paige went to the door, saw it was him, and looked ashen as she fled the room. Matthew pronounced the job complete, asking me if I wanted to do a final inspection before we settled up.

I heard the bus and other equipment being started as I shook my head. I'd been expecting him. I wrote the check, shook hands with Mr. Dawkins, and ran upstairs to assure Paige that I'd be back. She had recovered, not completely, but she was putting on a good show of being in high spirits. 

She said that she would help me load my truck and that I could drop her off at the bus station. I put my foot down, saying that we needed to tell our friends that we were leaving and that I would drive her home. "You're stubborn. That's one of the things I love about you," she said, accepting my way of doing things.

She called Janice and Nadine while I went next door to give Charlie a key to the house. We had everything packed and were ready to leave when I decided to leave a message to let the judge know I'd be away for a time. To my surprise, Judge Lockwood answered her own phone.

"You take all the time you need, Mr. Driver," she said.

"Thank you, I should be back in a week to select a realtor."

"Mr. Driver, I thought your expense reports were very reasonable. Are you sure that you and Ms. Kindle have been fairly compensated."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"I hope you didn't take that silly librarian's assistant seriously. She had no basis for those outlandish charges. I spoke to her and set her straight."

"Thanks again, Ma'am," I said.

"Have a safe and enjoyable trip, and you'll let me know when you get back, won't you?"

I told her I would and we said goodbye.

"I kept telling you that you had nothing to worry about," Paige said when I told her what the judge had said. 

We kept the conversation light on the way to Boston, but she expressed concern when it started to snow. I only stayed at the Peoples' home long enough to say hello to everyone. Mrs. Peoples said she understood that I had a long drive ahead of me. Paige explained the best way to head west. 

We said goodbye at the door. I was dismayed at her reluctance to kiss me or follow me to my truck. I was well on my way before it came to me; she didn't want to show affection for me in front of her kids. However, the tears welling up in her eyes said everything. 

Other than the weather slowing me down, the trip was uneventful. The constant swish of the windshield wipers made it hard for me to stay awake. I stopped for coffee and trudged on, arriving at home very early the next morning. Mary came out of her room, saying that she'd been expecting me. 

Mary urged me to go to bed, but she had to admit that she didn't know where I would be comfortable. She'd given my bed to my sister and her boyfriend. 

I did feel tired, and considered finding a place to sack out until the kids came downstairs and discovered that I had arrived. Their enthusiasm kept me awake all day. 

It had been three years since I'd seen my sister. Ginny had grown up, been widowed and become a school teacher. We had a lot of catching up to do, but she knew that I first had to let the kids monopolize the day. Randy, her boyfriend, was an engaging fellow and it was obvious that they were crazy about each other. 

Amanda and Phillip were excited about the gifts I'd brought for them, but they were mainly interested in sitting in my lap and asking me questions, mainly if I really had to go back and how long I would stay. I told them we would go shopping for school clothes. 

Mary prepared a big meal. Friends and business associates showed up with gifts for the kids. It was great to be home. I wondered how Paige's day was going. 

With my room being occupied by Randy and Ginny, I alternated nights sleeping on a blow-up mattress in my son's and daughter's rooms. 

Once the kids had their fill of me, I was able to spend time with Ginny and Randy. I took them on tours of my business and my adopted town. 

Henrietta was her usual crusty self, but under her brittle outer shell, her greeting was warm and gentle. Randy watched us trade barbs, each boasting about our sexual prowess until he caught on to our ruse.

I guided the conversation to Mark Leach and his involvement with my former girlfriend. At first Henrietta was reluctant to talk in front of Randy, but she opened up when he informed her that his mother had married the father of the Leach brothers. Randy alluded to the brothers' affinity for screwing each others' girlfriends. We discussed the possibility that the brothers were both screwing Marian. We even speculated that both men were screwing Max's wife. Randy recalled that Mark had a bigger cock than his brother, and that it was always a matter of concern that the girlfriend would notice the difference. 




Distribution Ch. 12



"Marian may enjoy the variety. I know I would," Henrietta said, blushing profusely.

"I don't care what they do as long as they keep paying the rents," I said, and for Randy's benefit, I added, "In addition to the hardware store next door, Max and his wife live in one of my antique houses, and Mark lives in the loft above the store."

"When are you coming back to me, Lover?" Henry asked. 

"I have about another month of work on the estate," I said. She knew about the widow I'd met; they'd talked on the phone. She must have known that Paige was the reason it was going to take me four weeks to pick a realtor to list the house with instead of a few days. 

I explained that I needed to spend the rest of the day with the kids. Henrietta said she understood, told Randy that she was glad to have met him, and kissed me goodbye. 

Mary made another fabulous meal. I thanked Randy and Ginny for coming, telling them that I would be leaving early the following morning. I slept in Amanda's room that night, but when I got up to leave, Phillip was curled up next to me. I kissed both kids and tiptoed out of the room.

Mary had coffee made and had packed sandwiches and fruit for me to eat along the way. I'd driven one hundred miles when the sun came up. Was it too early to phone Paige? I decided it was. 

For the next one hundred miles I beat myself up over the way I was abandoning the kids. I promised to take them shopping for clothes, but at the last minute, I had asked Mary to take them shopping. They were obviously hurt, but told me they understood that I had a job to do. I wondered if Amanda suspected my reason for wanting to get back. She and Mona corresponded regularly although she didn't tell me what they discussed.

It was seven AM when I dialed the Peoples' number.

"Paige?"

"Brian, is that you? I'll wake her," Mrs. Peoples said.

"What time is it?" Paige asked, sounding annoyed to have been awakened.

"I'm sorry, it's seven."

"Really? Its time I was up. I'm sorry I snapped at you. Where are you?"

"I'm on my way back. Should I come through town to pick you up?"

It was a full minute before she spoke. "I don't think so, Brian. I have too much to do today."

"You don't think so or you don't want me to pick you up?"

"I want to," she said, sounding uncharacteristically indecisive. 

"Where should I meet you?"

Another silence. "It's mean of you to take advantage of me. You know I'll do anything you want." 

"Does that mean you'll do anything I want tonight?"

"Call me when you get to town. I'll give you directions to the office...and Honey?"

"Yes?"

"Drive carefully," she said, giggling her sexy giggle as she hung up. 

I wore a permanent grin all the rest of the way to Boston.



Distribution Ch. 13



Chapter 13: Separation sucks

The downpour of winter rain monopolized my mind from the time I hit the city limits. Paige talked me through the unfamiliar streets, saying she would remain inside the building until my truck was sighted. 

"I'll run out and jump in when I see you coming down the street," she said, cautioning me to drive carefully. 

"These people are crazy. Is it always like this or is it just the rain?"

Paige laughed. "The kids are out of school this week. They're in town to exchange gifts that are the wrong size or don't suit them. The rain is a contributing factor, but yes, it's always like this."

The windshield wipers struggled to clear my view of the street, and I didn't see her until she squeezed between two parked cars. I stopped as quickly as possible, causing the guy behind me to squeal his brakes.

Paige dropped the small case she was carrying, and threw her body at me, dripping rain from her hair, eyelashes, and off her nose as our lips collided. She pulled away, gave me an appraising look, and spoke in excited amazement, "You came back to me."

If she heard the barrage of horns and abusive language going on around us, Paige disregarded its existence. She pulled me to her for another steamy kiss before shaking her head and laughing at the way cold droplets hit me in the face.

I felt the truck shake, and looked in the rearview mirror to see the guy in the small car behind us shout something. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but from the way he was battling the elements to put his point across, he was not exchanging pleasantries. 

Paige directed me to the highway, and we drove southward. We didn't talk because the rain was monopolizing my concentration. 

We entered the house, saw the mail on the kitchen table, turned up the heat, and went upstairs to the bedroom on the pretense of drying our hair and getting warm. 

We huddled under the covers, and wasted no time in getting into position. I don't know which one of us was hornier. After a vigorous workout, we rested, laughed, and eventually talked, about our short separation, about our kids, and about our concerns.

"What are we going to do, Brian?"

I knew what she was getting at. She wanted to know how we were going to cope with an impossible situation. We were from different backgrounds, our homes were hundreds of miles apart, and we had responsibilities that prevented us from even considering a long-term life together. I did have a half-baked idea, but it was too soon to talk about. It probably wouldn't work anyway.

"I hate to admit it, but we may be in for a life of misery. Let's not become depressed about our situation. Let's live for today," I suggested, and watched her turn her head and run her hand across her eyes.

We got dressed and went to a small café to have dinner. I tried to keep the conversation upbeat. "We have three more days and nights. Let's make the best of them," I said.

"Five nights," she corrected me. "I'll catch an early bus on Tuesday."

"That's even better," I said. 

We put gloom behind us and did our best to enjoy the weekend. 

We got up on Friday morning to find the refrigerator virtually empty. I opened the mail and updated the estate's financial picture while Paige went shopping. 

I paid bills and wrote checks for a distribution. We mailed my parents' check, Paige was to deliver her parents' check, we dropped checks for the Library and Church off at the judge's office and we took the one for the food pantry to Nadine. She invited us to a New Years Eve party at their home. 

We thought we knew everything about each other. We had talked continuously over the last four months. We knew the names of each others friends, their personality quirks, and what made them unique. I knew about Paige's affair after Patrick's death and she knew about my day and night with Georgia. I knew her body, intimately, and she had heard the story about how the scar on my thigh was the result of a bicycle accident when I was eight years old.

We talked incessantly, and there was no subject that we didn't agree upon, we thought. Why did such a trivial matter as choosing a realtor to market the house cause such a major dispute? When I took her to the bus early on Tuesday morning, we were no closer to agreement than we had been on Friday and we were still hung up on the method. We hadn't interviewed anyone. 

We argued about minor details, like the sex of the realtor. I would have been happy with a duplicate of Lois Barns. Paige said that males were more thorough. I cited my experience with rental property. Paige countered with her years of dealing with realtors all over the United States. 

What should have been a simple matter of picking a realtor was stalled. I knew that if we put it to a vote of the committee, we would be divided with forty-four votes each way. Could I count on Nadine's vote? I knew which way Nancy Dickens would lean and she could probably sway Gordon McMahan to vote with her. 

The following weekend, I told Paige that I was becoming impatient. "I have nothing else to do here. I have responsibilities at home."

"You keep telling me how well John Larkin manages your business."

"John can't see my children off to school or tuck them in at night," I said, appealing to her motherly instincts. She agreed to interview realtors.

We invited representatives from six companies to tour the house, appraise its value, and to give us an overview of the marketing campaign their office would conduct. 

There was a wide variance in the estimates of what the house would bring, but there was one common theme; winter was a slow time for a sale of a home of this type. It would be spring before we could expect to move the property. 

It took another week to narrow the choices to two candidates. Paige liked a male, who claimed ties to a nationwide chain of offices, saying that we would have thousands of realtors working for us. I preferred a female with a proven track record in sales of antique homes. 

We were at odds. I was stubborn, but Paige knew I was anxious to leave. She had the upper hand. I held out for another week before relenting, accepting her choice of James Harvey. Paige surprised me by saying that she had changed her mind. She would go along with my preference.

We reported that we had signed the agreement for a ninety day exclusive to the other members of the committee, and I made preparations to leave on Monday. Charlie took possession of Mackey's tools, agreed to keep watch of the house, and I directed the post office to forward the mail to my home. I considered taking Mackey's computer and the four drawer file cabinet, but decided to leave his office intact. 

Paige cried after we made love for what was to be the last time. She admitted that she had held me hostage by disagreeing with me about my choice of the realtor. I told her that I knew what she was up to, but didn't blame her. "I held out because down deep, I didn't want to leave."

February 2008

After nearly five months away, it took a couple of weeks for me to get up to speed on the status of the business. The inventory was higher than I would have liked, but cash was flowing, and the dealers were happy. I told John that he'd done a good job while I was absent, and I expected to rely on him to continue in the role of general manager. I'd lost interest in the day-to-day operation of the business. 

My involvement in the estate was minimal. I kept in touch with the realtor and Charlie, and kept the judge informed when there was any change in the financial picture. 

Paige and I talked frequently, about our families, our work, but mainly, we talked about the weekends we'd had together. Eventually, the frequency of the calls tapered off, until we only talked once each week. Hearing her voice gave me the same thrill, but we were tired of talking about the same cloud that hovered above. There was seemingly no solution. 

March 2008

Reconnecting with my children was going slower than it should have. I decided that they resented my deserting them for five months with only one short trip home. 

I told Paige that I was going to make their birthdays a special occasion, but at the end of the day, I had to report that things had not gone as smoothly as planned. 

First, they wanted separate parties, which I vetoed, reminding them that it was a tradition to celebrate their births with one party. As a concession, Mary baked two cakes, and we had two sessions of eating cake and ice cream, singing happy birthday, and opening gifts.

"That sounds like a practical approach," Paige said when I called her.

"I had group activities planned, but Phillip and his friends wanted nothing to do with the games I suggested. They preferred to go outside and kick the soccer ball around. The snow is gone, but my backyard is muddy. I expect to get a phone call from the mother whose kid fell down and got his best pants muddy."

Paige laughed. "Boys will be boys."

"That's not the worst of it. Amanda invited two girls and three boys, but only two of the boys showed up. The girls wanted to dance. The two boys wanted to eat their cake and call their parents to pick them up. I can't say that I blame them. Have you heard the music kids are dancing to these days?"

This struck Paige as funny. "Poor Brian, wait until Amanda becomes a teenager."

"I think she's already there. She asked if I was boinking you."

"What?" Paige asked, not laughing now.

"The guests were gone, and we were looking at the gifts the kids had received. By the way, the sweaters you sent are very nice. They fit perfectly."

"Where did she get the idea that you are...boinking me?"

"Your daughter. It was Mona's suggestion that Amanda find out."

"I'll speak to Mona. I wonder where she heard that word."

"I asked Amanda that question. She told me that she knows all the words, but she was only repeating what Mona had written."

"Oh, my, I hope you denied that you're...boinking me."

"I couldn't. Amanda knows me too well. I told her to come to me if she wants to discuss the words that she's heard."

"Brian, that's not the way to handle this. You need to sit her down and tell her about the birds and bees. Do you want me to do it?"

"When?" I asked. She was making the 'talk' with Amanda sound like it needed urgent attention.

"I was thinking of coming to see you next month...that is...if you want me? There's a spring break around the fifteenth."

"Of course I want you," I answered, excitedly.

April 2008

Paige's visit became the main topic of conversation at dinner. Amanda was just as enthusiastic as I was. Phillip and his grandmother were indifferent. 

Sleeping arrangements became an issue. I could see that Mary resented another woman taking her daughter's place in the home. It was decided that Mona would bunk with Amanda, Paige would occupy Phillip's room, and the boys would sleep on air mattresses in my room. 

Paige was devastated when I broke the news that we would not share the same bed. 

"Mary bore the brunt of my long absence. She never complained, but I'm sure she knew what was drawing me back after my short visit. I know her. She'll see us together and she'll accept the fact that you're right for me."

"I hope you're right," Paige said. 

Everyone did their best to make the four-day visit a success. The meals Mary prepared rivaled her finest work, ever. Paige and I found ways to be alone, two afternoons, in two different motel rooms, and the four kids got along famously. As I watched them play together, it was apparent that Amanda was the leader. No matter what game they were playing, she made sure everyone got a fair turn, but when a question arose, she deferred to the youngest member of the group, her brother. 

Paige noticed it too. "You should be proud of her. She and Phillip are especially close."

"Amanda knows she only has two blood relatives. She's lost her father and mother at a very young age. She has a right to cling to Mary and Phillip for all she's worth."

"She's especially close to you, too," Paige argued.

"Yes, she is," I agreed, "but I'm just her dad. We're not blood relatives."

When it was time for our company to leave, Mary hugged Paige and her children, saying that they would be welcome any time they wanted to come back. 

All in all, it was a very productive four days. It gave Paige and her children the opportunity to see the community where we lived, and to meet some of our friends. 

It was some days later when I found out about the talk Paige and my daughter had had. Amanda came to me first, saying that she liked Paige, and later, Paige confirmed that they had talked, but neither would disclose the content of their conversation. 

The Peoples' house had not sold. Mrs. Irene Cousins told us there had been nibbles, and spring would increase traffic. I knew differently; there had been a slowdown in the real estate market. We took a vote and extended her exclusive agreement for three more months. 

May 2008

Everything was running smoothly. I was settled in, coasting really. Two telephone calls disrupted my serenity. 

"Brian, have you seen Mark?"

It had been months since I'd heard Marian's voice. 

"Mark Leach?" I didn't make a habit of visiting the hardware store. As long as the rent checks came in, I let the Leach brothers go about their business. "No, not lately," I told her.

"He hasn't called me for three days, and he doesn't answer his phone."

"Have you tried the hardware store?"

"There's no answer. It just rings and rings."

"What about Max? Have you tried to get in touch with him?"

"I don't know him very well. He makes me nervous."

I muzzled a chuckle, thinking that she may know Max better than she thought. Could it be that she'd been fucking both brothers without detecting the difference in the size of their cocks? 

"I'll check on them and let you know what I find," I said The second call was from Henrietta.

"I think the Leach brothers have flown the coop. Customers are finding the hardware store locked."

"Marian said she couldn't reach Mark. I'll check it out."

I took the keys, hoping the Leach brothers had not changed the locks. No luck. The door on the store would require a locksmith to open. However, Mark had not been so careful. My key opened the outside door to the loft. I went downstairs and asked Henrietta to accompany me as a witness that I did not disturb any personal belongings.

The loft was empty. Mark's clothing had been removed, along with his furniture. Even the drapes were missing. I looked at Henrietta, showing disgust. She must have known that this was no time for wisecracks. She made a face. 

Unfortunately, the door leading from the loft to the store was locked, and I didn't have a key. I kicked the door, regretting that I'd ever met the Leach brothers.

"You need to contact an attorney to find out your rights before you break down the door," Henrietta advised. 

"I will, but first I'm going to visit the house I rented to Max."

What if Max, his wife, and Mark were there, suffering from some rare disease? 

No such luck. Looking through the front window, I could see that the furniture had been removed. A neighbor told me that she had seen a rental truck being loaded. 

"When was that?" I asked.

"Midnight until about two AM. It didn't take them long," she said.

I knew my rights. I contacted a locksmith before I called the lawyer. He advised me to enter the store and the two residences, but to have the police accompany me. "File a report. If any fixtures are missing, you can charge them with theft. Otherwise, all you can sue them for is breaking the leases."

The inventory had been removed from the store, but no fixtures were missing. I filed a police report, giving names and descriptions of the brothers, Max's wife, the rental truck and the cars they drove. I didn't have license numbers for their cars or the truck the neighbor had seen. The police said they could track it down through the rental company.

The Leach brothers had disappeared into the night and I was stuck with an empty store, along with a vacant loft and house. 

Marian called, wanting a shoulder to cry on. "I was foolish for falling for his lines, but you'd been gone a month and I was lonely. Mark came into the bank every day. He was handsome and friendly. When he asked me to help him decorate his apartment, I couldn't say no. 

"You were gone, Brian, and you wouldn't tell me when you would be back. Mark was here, and he was very attentive. Will you ever forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive, Marian. All that's important is that you had fun while it lasted."

She began to cry. "I should have suspected something when he didn't make a single deposit last week. He came to my house on Tuesday night. He seemed bewildered, like he had heavy issues on his mind. I didn't think it was especially strange. He often forgot what we'd done the night before. That's the last time I saw him.

"On Thursday, I found out that one of the store's checks had been returned for insufficient funds. I called the store, wanting to alert Mark that his account was overdrawn. His brother told me that Mark was unavailable. He promised to have Mark call me, but I didn't hear from him. More of their checks bounced on Friday. That's when I decided to call you." 

"I've filed a police report. Hopefully, they'll be found and returned to stand trial."

"I never want to see Mark again. Can you forgive me, Brian?"

I told her that she was forgiven, and a week passed before I heard from her again. 

"Have the police found Mark?"

"Not yet."

"I'm so sorry, Brian. I feel responsible for contributing to your financial setback."

I assured Marian that I didn't hold her responsible for the Leach brothers' sudden departure. What I didn't tell her was that my business had suffered very little financial loss. John Larkin was going to move into the house, and Henrietta jumped at the chance to occupy the loft. It only took an hour to move her furniture from the apartment. I took the bed and some personal items in my truck, and John took the kitchen table and more personal items. As of the first of June there would be one empty apartment. Otherwise, I'd fared very well. 

The empty store became a personal challenge. For the first time in months, I had something to replace the emptiness I felt for the loss of not being with Paige. As I told her, "instead of constantly thinking of you, I wrestle with a problem that I am capable of conquering." 

"I'm happy for you, Brian, but please, don't give up on us," she said, imploring. 

"I'll never give up on us. You're the first thing on my mind every morning, and you occupy my thoughts before I go to sleep."

"Are you going to find someone else to take over the store?"

"That would take too long."

"What about replacing the inventory and operating it yourself?"

"We didn't make it before, and apparently, the Leach brothers couldn't make a go of it either. The competition does a better job attracting the locals."

"Think about it, Brian. What made you successful in your core business? What is your niche?"

I was about to respond that Peg had made us successful when she answered her own questions.

"You don't rely on the locals. You advertise in cities with greater populations. You cast a wide net."

What she was saying made sense. It also proved that she'd been paying attention when I described the business that Peg had set up. 

"I give my dealers the opportunity to make a profit in exchange for accepting risk. They pay me up front. That allows me to work on a small margin. We offer quality products at excellent prices."

"Have you considered doing more of the same?" she asked.

"Thank you for having a keen mind." 

She laughed, and told me she was looking forward to hearing the details of my plans for the store.




Distribution Ch. 13



Marian called again. "Brian, I want you to have the desk back. I never paid for it."

"It was a gift."

She was insistent. I put her off, telling her that I was in the process of setting up a new business. "I'll call you before I come by to pick it up," I told her.

"I hope you didn't go to a competitor for funding? I'd hate to lose a good customer because I disappointed you with my behavior." 

I explained that I didn't need a loan. "The rent is free and we have excess inventory. My only expense is for advertising. You didn't disappoint me," I said, wondering if I should tell her about Paige. 

I knew by the frequency of her telephone calls, that Paige was excited about my project. I kept her appraised on the progress I was making, the selection of the dealers I'd offered rental space, the wording on the new sign that went up on the building, and my ideas for advertising. 

"Could you use some help?"

Was she suggesting that she pay me a visit? "What kind of help?"

"You seem tense, Brian. I'm sure I can help you relax."

Her offer stunned me. 

"Do you want me to come...to help?"

"Yes, of course I want you to come."

The timing couldn't have been worse. Paige and her kids were to arrive the sixth of June, only a few days after the grand opening on June 1. 

To further complicate matters, Marian called, demanding that I pick up the desk or she would cut it up for firewood. I didn't believe her, but I wanted the desk. John and I went to her house to pick it up. We had it loaded on my truck when she called me back into the house, like I'd forgotten something.

She closed the door and stood with her back to it, preventing me from getting out. She looked good. I could see what made Mark Leach sniff her out as soon as I left town. She was a well-to-do eligible widow. What puzzled me was what made him trade off with his brother. "Why are you ignoring me, Brian?"

"I'm not," I lied. The truth was that I sent John or Mrs. Nixon to the bank to make our deposits because I wanted to avoid telling her about Paige. Which one of us had strayed first? I was just as guilty as she was. I'd become involved with Paige without giving it a second thought. My only redeeming case was that I had not let Paige switch off with a look-alike. How could Marian be so gullible?

"We were close before you left. I'm sure you found me desirable. Are you going to hold my one little mistake against me?"

Marian was a self-assured woman, who was accustomed to getting what she wanted. Why was she being uncharacteristically submissive? 

"I don't blame you, Marian. I made a similar transgression, only mine was not a mistake."

"I knew it! You've been fucking someone else, haven't you? How can you be so smug? Who are you to be judgmental?" 

I had to forcefully open the door to get out. "You don't know what you're missing, Brian. Mark didn't have any complaints."

"Max didn't either," I said.

She screamed an obscenity before she started to cry, making me regret that I'd opened my mouth. 

We took the desk to the new discount store, to serve as my office when I had visitors.

June 2008

The discount store opened on June 1, with three dealers moving from the original location, and three new dealers. The booths were huge compared with the small cubicles at the flea market. There was also an owner's booth, which I used to get rid of one-of-a-kind items or odd lots of merchandise. 

We got off to a rough beginning. Fortunately, Paige would not be arriving until the sixth when her children were out of school. 

Henrietta complained that she was loosing business because my customers were using her parking places. I told my dealers and their helpers that they would have to park someplace else. They asked where. I told them I would find a place.

I knew I didn't want them parking on the street because I wanted customers to be able to use those spaces. I went across the street to the church, and offered to make a contribution in exchange for the use of a few parking spaces. 

"I'm sure the board would consider accepting your offering if you come to church and place it in the collection plate."

"That's not possible, Vicar, I have two businesses that need my attention on Sundays."

He took exception to my calling him Vicar. 

"Young man, I'm a servant of God. Please call me Reverend."

What the hell did I know? It was not a Catholic church, but he wore his collar backwards. 

"Anyway," he continued, "our parking lot is full of churchgoers' cars on Sundays."

"Thanks anyway, Reverend," I said, turning to leave. 

"Do you have children?" he asked.

"Yes, I have a girl and a boy, ages eleven and eight."

"The board may approve you parking a few cars on our lot six days a week if your children attend our Sunday school."

What a cagy bastard, I thought. "Thank you, Reverend. Their names are Amanda and Phillip Driver. They'll be here next Sunday."

I took the kids shopping for clothes suitable for church. Amanda protested about having to wear a dress, and Phillip said the new shoes hurt his feet. Begrudgingly, they accepted my explanation that their sacrifice was necessary for me to make a go of the business. 

Freeing up a dozen or so parking spaces helped, but Henrietta was not totally satisfied. "You're treating a knife wound with a band-aid," she said. 

As our visitors' date of arrival approached, I began working on Mary. "You don't want us sneaking around to strange motel rooms, do you?"

"Isn't that lady's apartment still vacant?" she asked.

"Yes, but there's no furniture," I answered. I think Mary knew I was referring to the lack of a bed. 

"All right, Brian, I see that you're determined. I hope you realize that you're setting a bad example for the children."

"I'll speak to Amanda. She'll square it with the younger kids," I said. 

Amanda was even more opposed to my sharing my bed with Paige than her grandmother had been. She accused me of forgetting about her mother. "You don't visit her grave any more," she said, beginning to cry.

"Yes, I do. I'll take you and Phillip with me the next time I go to ask for her advice."

"Go ahead and boink Mrs. Kindle, Dad, but don't expect me to convince the other kids that it's okay."

Paige was just as uncomfortable with the new sleeping arrangements as Mary and Amanda had been. "I was making headway with Amanda. Now, she's calling me Mrs. Kindle."

At breakfast the next morning, Mary was actually pleasant, compared to the cold stares we received from the four kids. We told the boys that they would be bunking with me that night, and Paige would take Phillip's room. That brought smiles to everyone. 

I activated plan B. Mary had given me the idea when she reminded me that Henrietta's apartment was vacant. I dropped off an air mattress, and took the precaution of telling Lois Barns that she could not show the apartment if she saw my truck parked out front. 

"You're hampering me, Brian," she complained. 

"It's only for a week or two, Lois. I'll be finished with what I'm doing before you know it."

I'm sure she knew what I was up to, but she was a good sport, and that's the last I heard about cramping her style. 

Paige was anxious to see the new business. Naturally, the kids wanted to go, too, but we put them off until another time. When we left the house, Amanda had them busy playing dodge ball in the back yard. 

I knew it was going to be a good sales day when I saw customers waiting for the store to open. I introduced Paige to the dealers, and was getting her set up to work at the owner's booth when I heard a commotion on the sidewalk. I looked out the window to see Henrietta shouting at my customers. Some of them were actually walking away. I opened the door and demanded to know what was going on.

She got up in my face, and shouted at me, raving mad. "I'm fed up with these people taking my parking spaces, Brian. I'm loosing business because there's no place for my customers to park their cars. Why are you grinning like an idiot?" 

I wiped imaginary spit from my face, which really pissed Henrietta off. I became concerned that she would burst a blood vessel in her long neck. My customers stopped in their tracks, hanging around to watch our confrontation. 

"You're sputtering like a spoiled child, Henry. I'd take you over my knee and tan your bottom if these good people weren't watching."

This struck everyone, including Henrietta, as funny, but I don't think the others would have laughed if she didn't howl. 

"In case you haven't noticed, my bottom is already tanned," she said in a remarkably calm voice.

"You know I'll make it right by you, don't you?"

"I know you will," she said, and then to the small crowd, "I'm sorry."

"Come inside, I want you to meet someone," I said to her while holding the door open to welcome the customers. 

The dealers looked on in dismay as I guided Henrietta to the owner's booth. 

"Paige, this is Henry. She's a little upset about the parking situation."

"A LITTLE upset!" Henrietta exclaimed. "I'm FUCKING bullshit at you."

Her rant was drawing the attention of the dealers and customers, but I was more concerned about the impression she was making on Paige. I'd portrayed Henrietta quite differently from the raving maniac we were witnessing. I assured Henrietta that I'd work out a suitable solution, and she graciously apologized to everyone for her most recent outburst. 

"Soon," she said as she was leaving.

"Soon," I agreed.

We took advantage of the empty apartment three times, once while the four kids were in Sunday school, once after we closed the store, and one time when we were supposed to be working. Paige loved the way the air mattress bounced while we were having sex on it. She told me she loved having sex with me, period. I responded that I loved her, period.

She became melancholy. "What are we going to do, Brian? Phillip is a little dear, but I'm having trouble getting through to Amanda."

"She's very mature. I've always had success talking to her like an adult. She seems to respond."

"I'll try that approach," she said.

We went together to talk to Henrietta about the parking situation. Paige warned me not to say that our solution was mainly her idea, but I felt compelled to give her credit. 

"I've looked up and down the street for additional parking, but there isn't any. We'll have to make do with the spaces we have.

"We're going to give my customers incentives to shop on our schedule. We'll have drawings on the half hour, and offer prizes to the winners, but to win, their last name must begin with a letter of the alphabet that corresponds with our printed schedule. In other words, people with last names that start in A, B, or C, will be encouraged to shop at a certain hour of the day. We'll go through the alphabet, three letters for each hour." 

"What will you give as a prize?" Henrietta asked.

"Prizes. I envision handing out three discount coupons for lunch or dinner at your restaurant."

Henrietta shook her head, dramatically. "No way! I don't like that idea at all."

"Wait, there's more. I plan to run your specials in my advertising. You'll get exposure for miles in all directions."

"How much is the prize?"

"Five dollars minimum or ten percent of their purchase, but you'll only need to cover the five dollars. My dealers and I will underwrite the difference. We're asking you to try it for a month. If you don't make more money, we'll rethink the plan."

Henrietta agreed to try the idea, saying that anything would be an improvement over the present situation.

If Mary was happy to see our visitors leave, Amanda was ecstatic about it. It grieved me to watch her gloat, like she'd had a hand in ridding our happy home of the evil witch. I was not happy at all. 

The new plan was a success from the beginning. It cut down on traffic in the store, which was the objective, but sales increased. Purchases were not required to win. I wasn't concerned that people would drive fifty miles in order to receive a five dollar coupon for a meal, but I instituted a sign in policy to prevent locals from dropping by at the drawing time on the chance that their name would be drawn. As I reported to Paige, "Henry's place is so busy that she's creating a new parking problem."

We talked about our impossible situation. Paige had no ideas and I couldn't think of a way we could be together either.

September 2008

The inventory was reduced to the point that I had to telephone all my old contacts to see what they could locate in the way of distressed merchandise. I hardly took notice when the kids returned to school. Paige said it was the same with her. She was working longer hours in order to keep her mind occupied. 

Amanda came into the store one afternoon in late September. She was wearing a plaid skirt, a white blouse with a little black tie, and white knee stockings. There was a matching bow in her hair. She wore a somber expression on her face. 

"You look nice. Where did you get the outfit?"

"Grandma took me shopping," she said, offhandedly, like she had a more pressing matter on her mind. 

"Does she know you're here?"

"Yes, I've been to see Henrietta. She invited me to have a talk."

"Is that so?" I asked. Henrietta hadn't said anything about it to me.

"Dad, you said we would visit mom's grave."

"You're right, I did. How about now? Is this a good time for you?"

Amanda's smile lit up the room. We drove to the cemetery. I took a seat on the ground, crossing my legs like I often did. Amanda sat down in front of me, leaning back for support.

"I'm going to talk to mom, okay?"

"Would you like for me to walk around to give you some privacy?"

She shook her head without turning around. "You should probably hear what I have to tell mom."

"Okay," I said, and waited while she took a breath and composed herself.

"Mom, dad has a friend. She's a tall black lady, and they really like each other. Don't jump to conclusions, mom. It's nothing like that. Henrietta owns a restaurant and lives in the loft above dad's store, but you probably know all that. She invited me to come see her today. She told me I was acting like a kid.

"You see, dad met this lady that he really likes. Paige is her name. She has two children. Henrietta told me to open my eyes and see how he and Paige look at each other. She said it's plain to see that they are in love. She told me that Grandma and I are standing in the way of dad being happy, and since grandma is too old to change, she wanted me to consider dad's feelings for once.

"I told her that I like Paige. She talks to me about things that grandma doesn't think I need to know yet. Phillip likes her too. Her kids can be real stinkers at times, but we get along pretty good I guess. 

"The reason I wanted to talk to you is to tell you how everyone feels about this. Dad's in love with Paige. Phillip and I like her very much. I need to know what to say to grandma so she'll understand how important it is that dad and Paige are together. Can you help me, mom?"

We sat looking at the stone with Peg's name on it for ten minutes before Amanda turned to me, smiling up at me the same way she did when we first met.

What she didn't know, I thought, as I drove her home, was that there were stronger forces at work than Mary's conflict with my relationship with someone new. Paige's reluctance to leave her parents was more of an obstacle than any of us knew.

October 2008

Every time I looked for Amanda, she was talking on the telephone or sending e-mail. She would look at me and explain that she was talking with Paige or Mrs. Peoples, or Mona, or Patrick. 

"Yes, we talk often," Paige would say. That's all I was allowed to know. 

November 2008 

We received an offer on the Peoples' house. It was lower than our asking price, but given trends in the declining real estate market, I urged the committee members to vote with me. Yes, I reached out to Ms. Dixon and Mr. McMahan in addition to Nadine Meriwether. We set the closing for the day after Thanksgiving, not a good time to be away from the business, but the kids were on vacation from school, and I wanted them to see where I'd been for five months. To my surprise, Mary wanted to make the trip. I had Peggy's old car tuned up, and we took off early on Monday morning. We couldn't leave sooner because the kids had to attend Sunday school.

Over a year had passed since my first trip. The house looked the same. Charlie came over to greet us. I introduced him to my family. He asked about Paige. Amanda told him that she and her children would be there the next day. 

We went on a tour of the house. I told Mary that she was to have the bed and we would camp out in the living room. And then we went grocery shopping. 

Mary took over the kitchen, saying it reminded her of home. 

I called Nadine and Janice to inform them that we had arrived. They said they'd been expecting me. They even knew that Paige and her family were arriving the next day. 

Paige called. "I'm bringing my family. I hope you have room for all of us."

"There'll be room. We'll camp out in the living room. I'm afraid there won't be any privacy for just us but..."

"No, Brian, you don't understand. I was asking if there will be room in the car for my family. I'm bringing my parents."

"Your parents are coming?"

"It was Amanda's idea. She's been talking to my mother."

"Gee, I wish Amanda had told me. I already gave the bed to Mary."

"We'll camp out. It'll be fun," she laughed.

Nadine called the next morning to invite us to dinner at their house. 

"You must be the only one Amanda hasn't talked to. She has a family meeting scheduled," I said. 

"How old is she?"

"Eleven, going on thirty-nine," I responded.

"I want to meet that young lady," Nadine said.

Mrs. Peoples wanted to go on a tour of the house, and Amanda volunteered to show her around. They headed up the stairs, whispering to each other like old chums.

Mary talked Mr. and Mrs. Peoples into taking the bed. "I'm looking forward to camping out," she said.

"Mary wants to keep an eye on us young folks," I put in, and felt Paige's elbow hit my ribcage.

"We're only staying one night," Mrs. Peoples informed us. "We didn't want to miss the family meeting."

Except for Mr. Peoples, who sat on one of the chairs and ate at the table, the rest of us sat on the floor, balancing our plates in our laps. Everyone praised Mary for the meal she'd prepared. 

"I feel indebted to Brian for letting me come along. I didn't want to miss the family meeting," she said with a twinkle in her eye that I hadn't seen in years.

Paige collected the plates and silverware, and barred her mother and Mary from entering the kitchen. She told Amanda to start the meeting. "I'll listen while I do the dishes," she said.

As Amanda took the floor, she looked small, but supremely confident. Do I know this little person? Then she smiled at us, the same way she smiled at me when she was two years old.

"This is about sacrifice," she began. "We make sacrifices for the people we love. Do we all agree on that point?"

We all nodded.

"Mr. and Mrs. Peoples will be making the greatest sacrifice. They will be leaving their home and the neighborhood and their friends. Paige will be leaving her work and her friends. Mona and Patrick will be changing schools and have to make new friends. Grandma will be giving up her position as lady of our house. My brother and I will have to share our dad, but we'll be gaining a mom." 

What the hell was she talking about? I raised my hand, but put it down when she went on to explain that Mr. and Mrs. Peoples would have their choice of occupying the house where her grandparents had lived, the small house where my office was located, or an apartment in my building. 




Distribution Ch. 13



"So, as you can see, we're all making sacrifices for people we love. Dad, it's time for you to propose to Paige."

Amanda looked at me, wistfully expectant. I rose to my feet. Paige appeared, drying her hands.

"Paige, will you marry me?"

She lunged at me, answering with her lips.



Distribution Ch. 14



Chapter 14: Epilog A Happy Man

October 2009

Amanda had everything worked out, she thought. She'd done a good job of convincing everyone that sacrifice was necessary, but she had not foreseen the pitfalls that presented themselves. No one could have. 

We were married in December, 2008. Mona and Patrick changed schools after Christmas vacation. Paige's parents came for the wedding, but after deciding that they would prefer to live next door, where my office was located, they returned home to Boston, temporarily, they said. 

My parents, my sister and her boyfriend came for the wedding. They agreed that they liked Paige, but my mother was opposed to my taking on the responsibility of raising two more children that I had not sired. She adored Phillip, her blood relative and Amanda eventually won her over. 

Everything was too small for three adults and four children. We bought a new, larger car, but we were cramped in the house. The boys argued about which one would take the upper bunk, and the girls squabbled over closet space. 

Paige didn't fit in well in my businesses. She was great at problem solving, but she complained that I was too set in my ways. She missed her job as a paralegal. 

It was after the birthday party in March that we begin discussing the living conditions. What we needed was a new home, designed to accommodate our growing family. Building elsewhere would defeat the purpose of Page's parents taking over my office next door.

We decided to add two rooms to the existing house, a large family room with another bedroom and bath above it. But before the addition was started, Paige became pregnant. Was it too late to add a nursery to the plan? We reconsidered building exactly what was needed, a large home that would accommodate a wing for her parents. 

Somehow, we made it through the school year without anyone being seriously injured in the daily battles over use of the upstairs bathroom. 

What kept us sane was the knowledge that we would soon be in our new home. Paige revealed that she had some money. We found a suitable acreage, and held nightly meetings to plan the house. Once that was settled, she stopped talking about missing work and became content to be a stay-at-home mom.

We took two trips in the new car. First, in June, we attended Ginny's marriage to Randy. We took the kids. Mary preferred to stay home. Randy's grandparents opened their home to us. My parents stayed in a motel. 

Everyone was especially attentive to Paige, wishing her good luck with the birth of our child. My mother said that she was glad she had witnessed our marriage. "At least this one will not be a bastard," she said, patting Paige's tummy.

The second trip was to Boston. Paige and I went to bring her parents back with us. They expected to move into the little house next door, but when we told them about our plans to build a custom home, they participated in the design of their wing. Mary flatly refused a separate wing for her own use, saying that she wanted to be close to her family. 

Paige brought us to our senses one night when we had six different ideas about the color of tile to be used in one of the bathrooms. "If we don't stop designing and start building, the baby will be here, I'll be pregnant again, and we'll have to start the design process over." 

We came to terms with a contractor the next morning. I told him to surprise us with the color of the tile. 

I'm a happy man. My daughter taught me that.

Amanda came to see me one afternoon. Paige waved at me as she pulled away from the curb. I blew her a kiss, knowing that she'd brought Amanda to the store. She wanted to talk.

"I like your hair," I said.

"Paige braided it. She said you would like it."

"You look cute."

She became serious, like she hadn't heard my compliment. 

She guided me to my desk, which afforded a limited amount of privacy. "We're out of money, Dad."

"We can't be. Who told you that?"

"You know I don't talk to anyone else about what's in the safe. It's empty."

"Oh, is that all?" I asked, relieved. It was obvious that she had not been introduced to the concept of a bank account. "I'll get you some cash," I said, already thinking of how I could skim a few hundred dollars off the top of the daily receipts before I gave it to John for deposit. I'd have to be careful. Mrs. Nixon was no dummy. If she caught me stealing from myself, it would be hard to explain about the safe and our secret stash. 

"Good," Amanda said, and I could see that there was something more that she wanted to talk about. "Do you love me, Dad?"

What kind of question was that? "Turn that question around, Honey. Ask if I would grieve if something bad happened to you. You know I would. It's my job to see that nothing bad happens to you. I sacrifice for you, the same as you sacrifice for me. Isn't that love?"

She was thoughtful for a few seconds. "Are you happy?"

"Yes, I'm happy. What makes you ask about that?"

"Sometimes...sometimes you don't look happy. I want you to be happy."

"I have a lot of things on my mind, Honey. There's the new house, and the business, and the baby coming."

She studied me. "You need to talk to Henrietta," she said, already dialing her cell phone. "Mom, I'm ready to go. Can you pick me up?"

I watched Amanda speak to the dealers while she was waiting for Paige to pick her up. It wasn't long before she stopped the car in front of the store. She must have been waiting around the corner. 

I thought about what Amanda had said, deciding that she wanted me to look like I was happy. It didn't work. I took her advice and went to see Henrietta. She took me into her office.

"Has Amanda been talking to you about me?"

"We talk from time to time. She calls me; I call her, but don't let your ego explode. We talk about more than you."

"She first asked if I loved her, and then she wanted to know if I'm happy."

"She'll soon be twelve years old, Brian. She's becoming a woman. We need to know that we're loved. We want our men to be happy. What did you tell her?"

"I tried to make her understand that I love her more than anything and that I'm happy. I'm not sure she was convinced that I'm happy. She told me to talk to you."

"Are you happy?"

"Yes, I think so. I told her that I have a lot on my mind with the new house, my businesses and the baby on the way. There's always a small war going on at the house. I guess I let it boil over sometimes."

"We all have to make adjustments, Brian. I was heartbroken when you took up with that white woman, but look at me now. I've adjusted."

"You're shitting me!"

"Yes, but I made you think, didn't I?"

"Are you happy?"

She grinned, showing a mouthful of teeth. "Adjustments Honey. Constant adjustments, that's the secret."

I had John take over and went home early. Amanda winked at me as I handed her an envelope, bulging with cash. 

"You're happy," she said.

"I'm a happy man."

Paige came to me, pressed her swelling tummy against me, and asked, "Did I just hear you say you're happy?"

"I'm a happy man," I repeated. Mary and the kids watched us, grinning from ear to ear. 

Here ends Distribution

Some resolved and unresolved issues: We never heard what happened to the Leach brothers. Henrietta announced her engagement to a man I'd introduced her to, a pig farmer who picks up discarded items from my produce stand and Henrietta's restaurant. Paige never learned the truth about why Patrick was in the neighborhood where he met his death. Marian left town soon after Paige and her family moved in with us. Some people claim she eloped with a bank teller, who disappeared at the same time. We're talking to the kids about adoption, but they say it's not important, being loved by us is enough. The girls are hoping the baby will be a girl. The boys want a brother. Me, I'm just hoping HE will be born healthy.



Distribution



"Mr. Martin was also quite specific about keeping those expenses to a minimum," Ms. Dickens said, and I was beginning to think that I had an ally. 

Ms. Kindle looked at each member of the group, trying to assess the way they were leaning on the topic of what were reasonable expenses. She looked to Ms. Whitney for help, and seeing that the attorney's assistant was not giving any, she turned to me. I stared back at her, blankly, and I believe that she could read my mind, but she called for the vote anyway.

"Who is in favor of my seeking accommodations in a moderately priced motel?"

In addition to her own hand, Mr. McMahan's hand shot up. Ms. Kindle looked at me, pleading for me to raise my hand. I knew that my forty-four votes would have sealed the deal, and that she would probably side with me in future decisions. I shook my head, and watched her shoulders slump in defeat. 

"This meeting is adjourned," she said, heading for the house. 

"When's the next meeting?" Mr. McMahan asked, but he may as well have been talking to the ground. Everyone was getting up to leave. 

"I'll call you," Ms. Whitney mouthed, and I nodded my understanding.

"Let's meet tomorrow at nine AM," I suggested, and everyone agreed, except Ms. Kindle, of course, who was half-way to the house.

As the others drove off, I went to my truck, parked it in the driveway, and brought my few possessions into the house. The quality of the air was only slightly improved. 

Not seeing or hearing Ms. Kindle, I walked from room to room. The kitchen was large, and had been updated at some point in the last decade. The cabinet-top was marble, the flooring was tile, and the appliances were not old. A small table and two chairs sat next to a window that overlooked the back yard. The pantry was spacious. I turned my flashlight on, and found a broom, a dust mop, and a candle. 

As I walked from the kitchen to the living room, I realized that the kitchen ceiling had been lowered, probably at the time of the update. The ceiling was two feet higher in the living room, and the wide-pine flooring squeaked. The furniture consisted of large, leather-covered pieces, bookshelves along one wall, and a game table, suitable for chess or cards, with two straight-backed chairs.

The next room had a high ceiling, a dining table with eight chairs, a hutch, and a serving cart. I was looking at the china inside the hutch when I heard the floor squeak. Knowing I hadn't moved, the squeak had to be coming from upstairs. Ms. Kindle must have decided to leave the first floor to me, and claimed the upstairs for herself. 

I heard the upstairs flooring squeak again as I found a bathroom that doubled as a laundry. The shower, bathroom fixtures, the washer and dryer had been replaced within the last five years. 

There was one other room. It was small, possibly a one-time maid's room. There was a bed, dressing table, and it appeared that the room had been used recently.

I heard the upstairs flooring squeak again as I began sweeping, then took the throw-rugs outside, thinking that I would beat the dust out of them later. I'd finished sweeping the kitchen and front room when Ms. Whitney called to say that my credentials had been faxed to the utility companies. She gave me their phone numbers, and I began calling them to arrange resumption of their services.

They all gave me the same answer. The service had been discontinued due to their bills going unpaid for ninety days. The gas company told me that they had sent a representative to the house to make sure there were no occupants, implying that they'd been looking for dead people.

I called the attorney's office and got their voicemail. I left a message for Ms. Whitney, explaining what the utility companies had said. 

I resumed sweeping, admonishing myself for not getting the amounts the estate owed to each utility. Where were the bills showing the amounts owed, anyway? I walked out to the street to check the mailbox. It was empty, but Mr. Hubert must have been watching from his house. He met me at the backdoor, and handed me a large cardboard box filled with mail.

"I've been collecting this since they took Elsie away. The postman stopped leaving mail the other day. He must have heard about her death."

"Thank you, Mr. Hubert."

"Did you find everything you need?" he asked, lingering at the back door, like he would like to have been invited inside. 

"Yes, thank you."

"Don't hesitate to call me if I can be of help. Mackey kept the telephone book in a cabinet drawer in the kitchen. I can show you where it is if you want."

"Thanks again, Mr. Hubert. I'm sure I'll be able to find the phone book," I said, easing my body inside the door, and closing it behind me. 

I checked the time on my cell phone, and saw that it was a few minutes past six. The first call I made was to my house. After letting Mary know that I'd arrived safely, she put Amanda on the phone. She tried to sound mature, saying that they were getting along fine. Phillip painted a different picture, but I heard Amanda in the background, urging him not to cry. 

Next on my list was Marian. Her disposition was much improved from the night before when she'd almost begged me to come to her house. She asked what I was doing, and I told her that I was sorting the mail from the last three months into two stacks, bills and bank statements in one, and junk mail in the other. She laughed. I didn't tell her about the stale air in the house, or that I'd spent the last two hours sweeping the floors. 

Judy said that John was out someplace, but I caught up with Mrs. Nixon. There was a common theme among the people I spoke to: "When are you coming home?" I told them all the same thing: "I don't know."

I didn't try to speak to Henrietta, knowing that this was her dinner hour at the café. 

Feeling the urge to take a leak, and knowing that there was no water to flush the toilet, I walked behind the barn, and wet down the grass. If anyone saw me, they didn't complain. Anyway, it was becoming dusk, and most houses had lights burning. 

Back inside, I started opening the mail. Most of it was addressed to the trust. There were at least three bills from each utility. I put them in chronological order, by utility, and entered them in a spreadsheet. There were stock dividend statements, advising that deposits had been made to the trust's checking account. 

I found a checkbook in a kitchen cabinet, and entered the deposits. I then opened the bank statements for the last three months, and discovered that there were two checking accounts.

One of the statement balances matched fairly closely to the checkbook I'd been posting to, but the balance of the other statement was much higher. Both bank statements included certificates of deposits, which totaled one hundred thousand dollars per bank. Where was the missing checkbook? 

Thick envelopes from the United States Treasury containing statements for the last three months explained the high balance. A Treasury note in the amount of twenty thousand dollars had expired each month, and been deposited to the second checking account, plus interest. The statement balance was four hundred and twenty thousand dollars, and the dates of expiration extended to May 2009. 

Should I bring these discoveries to the attention of the other distribution committee members? The second checking account statement showed a balance in excess of seventy thousand dollars. 

Finding the elusive checkbook was imperative. How would we make distributions without it? I replaced the mail in the cardboard box, deciding to make an effort to find the checkbook before I disclosed the balance to the others. It was after eight PM when I had everything entered. I turned off my computer, lit a candle, and heard my stomach growl. 

"I'm going to pick up something to eat," I said, yelling in the direction of the upstairs. "Do you want anything?"

After waiting a minute, I tried again. "Ms. Kindle, can I bring you something to eat?"

Still not hearing anything from the second floor, I extinguished the candle, drove to the first pizza shop I found, ordered a large pizza, and went next door where I bought a six-pack of beer, six bottles of water, and six Cokes. 

I called Henrietta while I was having my first slice of pizza and a beer. 

"I heard you left town suddenly. Whose daughter did you knock up?"

"Don't try to cheer me up. I got up at three-thirty this morning, and now I'm eating pizza by candlelight because all the utilities are shut off. I had to go in back of the barn to pee, and when I hang up from you I'm going to spread my sleeping bag out on the hard floor."

"You didn't knock up the banker, did you?"

"She wishes, but I didn't have time last night," I said, reaching for my second slice of pizza. 

"How long are you going to be there?"

"I don't know. Ah, Shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"I just heard the upstairs toilet flush. Did I tell you that we don't have any water?"

"No, you told me not to try to cheer you up."

"I hope she realizes that there's no more water in the tank."

"Who?"

"The other forty-four percent. I'm representing my dad, who is entitled to forty-four percent of the estate, and she's representing her dad, who is entitled to the same amount. There are three townspeople, who have three votes each, and the attorney is earning three shares, but he doesn't vote."

"Is forty-four...?"

"Don't say it. I haven't looked that closely. Anyway, she's married."

"Oh," Henrietta said, and I could tell that she'd already lost interest. The new people in my life were not juicy enough for her. She told me to call often, and we ended the call.

I finished the second slice of pizza, closed the box, spread my sleeping bag out on the living room floor, and extinguished the candle. I opened the set of framed photographs of my family, and used my flashlight to search the faces that I knew so well. Peggy's picture was taken in two-thousand five, a couple of months before her death. Amanda's and Phillip's pictures were more recent, but the one of all four of us was taken when Phillip was four years old. I studied the smiling faces for several minutes before I turned the flashlight off and fell asleep.

I awoke with a start. Sun was streaming through the front window, and the first things I saw were the four photographs.

The second thing I saw was Ms. Kindle. She was munching on a cold slice of pizza, and had a bottle of water in her hand. 

She looked surprised, but I didn't pay her any attention. I had a more pressing matter to take care of. I put on my sneakers, and headed for the back of the barn.