Author's Note
I want to apologize for the chapter taking so long. I was out of town for most of July and didn't have easy access to a word processor or the internet. I also want to apologize for those of you who have emailed me. I had forgotten that I created a new email account tied directly to my Literotica profile; I thought I had used my regular email. It was only very recently when I happened to be looking at my profile information that I noticed which email was active for Literotica users. I apologize again and will answer them as soon as possible.
*****
I didn't know what to think about Reed's gift or the inscription. When I arrived home, I was convinced that I was through with our relationship, and then Dad's condition had absorbed my focus. But if I were honest with myself, I missed Reed and realized how comforting and supportive his presence had been over the years. Especially at night in my childhood bedroom, I yearned for his arms around me. His visit had only strengthened these yearnings, and yet I didn't know if I could ever get past his dishonesty.
I would forgive him...Hell, I already had, but I couldn't yet trust him. I did, however, find comfort in putting my watch back on; my wrist had seemed so naked without it. It served as a talisman during the long days in the hospital. While I was still uncertain as to my future with Reed, I was very glad that we had made at least some reconciliation. He called and texted me daily to check on me during my grim vigil, and I always felt better after talking to him. I was always glad to hear his voice, and the knowledge that he cared did ease my sense of being alone. I loved him, still, but I didn't know if I could ever have the same relationship.
In fact, I was grateful to many people. Ben and his partner, and Patrick also kept close tabs on me and Dad; even Frank the cub surprised me by texting me. His texts started with a simple "woof," but when I explained where I was and what was happening, he made it his mission to keep me cheered up. Considering his idea of an appropriately cheering message was to send me a text consisting of inspirational quotes superimposed over photos of hot men in various states of undress, I learned to open his messages only when others weren't in the room.
Over the next weeks, Dad's condition continued to deteriorate. On the day he was finally cleared to visit the oncologist in Shreveport, they removed his catheter. When he attempted to use the restroom, he fell, hitting his head against the wall badly enough to dent the sheetrock. I had been the one helping him; it happened so fast. I'll never forget the horror of seeing him sitting sprawled on the floor, his legs side apart, the glazed look in his eyes. I rushed to get a nurse, and he was quickly taken off for more tests.
They discovered a hematoma, but the doctor was uncertain if it had resulted from this fall or a previous one. More disturbingly, the scans had revealed at least one of his reasons for not eating; the valve in his throat was malfunctioning and food was going into his lungs. At this point, the prognosis was grim. Dr. Harris recommended that we forgo aggressive treatment and focus on providing hospice care .
After discussing matters with my stepmother, we had him moved to the nursing home portion of the facility and set up hospice care there. Ruby was a wreck. She seemed to have aged twenty years in the last couple of months. She had been staying at her former home with her daughter, and the three of us agreed that it would be best to make that move permanent. Ruby had never particularly cared for living so far from town on the farm, and even now before the final end, declared that there were too many memories for her there. I helped my step sister and her boyfriend move Ruby's things to Russville, glad for the distraction.
My days had an unvarying routine; I'd wake up in what had been my old bedroom and have a solitary breakfast of a pot of coffee in the silent house. Ruby had never been much of a homemaker and, aside from converting what had been the guest room into her personal den, she hadn't made that many changes to the house over the years. But still, with her ceramic rooster collection gone and without her ever present piles of thrillers she loved to read, the place seemed even emptier. I'd then drive the 30 minutes into Russville and spend the day sitting by dad, whose periods of lucidity were ever shorter. He had a constant stream of visitors.
I found it somewhat surreal chatting politely with visitors about mundane things like my life in New Orleans and the weather while we sat beside a dying man, but it was nice to see now many people cared for my father. When I was alone in the room with him, I kept regretting spending so little time with him since my move. My only visits had been fleeting and somewhat begrudgingly made.
As the holidays approached, Dad continued to slip away. Over my protests (and I was so glad that they had ignored them), Ben, his partner Don, and Reed made the trip up to Russville to spend Christmas Day with me. Ruby, too distraught to stay long, and my step sister and her daughters also came by. The same friends and relatives who had already been by to pass their respects also stopped in, bearing treats and words of comforts. Their visits did comfort me, and I think Dad somehow also sensed their presence. In any case, early in the morning of December 26, he peacefully passed away.
While Don had to return to New Orleans for work, Ben and Reed stayed to help me plan the services. I made sure to include as many of Ruby's wishes as possible, but except for choosing a few favorite songs, she left most of the decisions to me. I tried to make sure the services were more a celebration of life rather than a mourning, and I insisted on the flowers on the casket being John Deere green and yellow. As a farmer, my father had always had touch up paint for his tractors and equipment in those two colors. In fact, since those were the only two paint colors guaranteed to be in stock on the farm, I had, over the years, ended up with many, many items painted those colors. The ladies at the local flower shop ran with the idea, and produced a beautiful spray that not only included the requested yellow and green flowers, but a miniature John Deere tractor.
The funeral occurred only a few days after Dad's death, and I was very grateful for Ben and Reed's help. They were staying at a hotel in Russville, but came back to the house every evening to keep me company and to help clean and prep for the lunch planned for after the funeral. There was no need to cook; however, the good ladies of the community kept arriving in waves with cakes, pies, casseroles, and enough fried chicken to feed a continent.
The service was simple; one cousin, who after a wayward youth had become a pastor gave the service. Dad's cousin Red, who gave the eulogy, did inject some degree of lightheartedness into the proceedings since his speech mainly consisted of telling us how my father had gotten the nickname "Tomcat" in his youth. Let's just say it involved sneaking nursing students out of a dorm via ladder. The soloist further contributed to the levity by walking down the aisle of the chapel with the back of her black dress tucked into her white Spanx. Embarrassed, she recovered to give a beautiful performance of the classic country hymn "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." Then, on a clear December day, under a beautiful blue sky, my father was laid to rest beside my mother.
The rest of the day passed in casserole and reminisces, and, at least in my case, nips of bourbon from the rather large flask I had filled that morning, feeling the need for some liquid courage. By 7 or so, the house had cleared out, the food was put away, and the dishes washed. Ben had gone back to the hotel and Ruby had gone back to her daughter's house. I had drained the flask and had graduated to drinking Maker's Mark straight from the bottle; Reed had stayed to keep a concerned eye on me, but I was holding up well, I thought, considering. I was just so tired, but not ready to sleep. I'm not sure when he put me to bed, but I woke up sometime before dawn.
It took me a minute to get my bearings since Reed had put me in my father's bed instead of the twin in the computer room. When I felt someone stirring beside me, I had a moment of horror flashing back to my morning of shame at the Ritz, but I suddenly realized I had my clothes on, I remembered last evening, and that the person beside me was someone I knew well, my former boyfriend.
I relaxed, but quickly tensed when I felt Reed moving beside me. His strong arms suddenly wrapped around me and pulled me to him. Even through my clothes, I could feel his hard chest and even harder dick pressing against my back and ass. It felt like it had been forever since I had felt a lover's touch, and I shuddered as his lips moved by my ear.
"I love you,baby," he rasped in a low, sexy voice. "Let me make you feel good."
His hand started moving underneath my shirt, stroking my hairy torso. I moaned and leaned back against his shoulder. Almost every part of me was aching to surrender, to let go, to go back to what I used to have. It would have been so easy to do it. So easy to turn in his arms and kiss him and tell him everything could be like it used to be. But I knew that would be a lie. I wasn't the same, and I couldn't pretend it was. I still loved him and had forgiven him, but I wasn't ready to go back.
I pulled away and got up from the bed. He left me go, falling back with a sigh. I went toward the kitchen, expecting him to follow me, but he didn't. Discovering it was close to 5am, I decided to make coffee. I'm not sure how much later it was when he finally joined me, but the first rays of sunrise still hadn't made an appearance. I was sitting on the sofa in the living room, well into my second cup of coffee which I had fortified with a stiff shot of bourbon. Maybe 5 am was a little early for a shot of bourbon, but I had just buried my father and turned down my first shot at sex in months. I figured I had earned it.
"There's coffee in the kitchen," I said.
