Until the reading of his will, I was never sure if my Uncle George knew the truth.
He left me one penny.
The rest of my family was shocked. I was supposed to be the favourite nephew and people thought I was going to end up with the lion's share of my uncle's fortune. Instead my uncle left his money to various charities. I was commiserated with by a lot of friends and family who couldn't understand what had happened. My mother was angry and she said I should go to court and fight the will.
I had no intention of doing that. My uncle had given me just what I deserved. Perhaps I was his favourite after all. He could have left me his money and I would have gone the rest of my life feeling guilty.
For twenty years my uncle had never shown the slightest hint that he might have guessed the truth about what happened, but every time he was around I felt sick with guilt. We were together a lot when I was growing up. We hunted and fished and he gave me my first beer. I worked with him during the summers and he taught me how to tie a fly and catch a football. My own father had died when I was fifteen and my uncle George became my father and my friend. We were as close as two people could get until the summer I came home after my freshman year in college, and everything changed.
I guess I could make excuses and say I was a pretty naive eighteen year old, but the truth is I could have made a different choice. I knew it then. I know it now.
I went to spend two weeks with my uncle at his cabin in the mountains the summer after my freshman year in college. Spending two weeks in the woods was not my idea of a good time. My college was up north and all year I had dreamed of sunshine and beaches, but when my uncle George called and invited me, I found I couldn't turn him down.
My old car had finally stopped running and I had to take a bus up to the small North Georgia mountain community and my uncle met me there. His brand new black pick up truck was parked out in front of the bus station. My uncle was small and slightly overweight but he had a big, booming voice and a strong handshake. He had started out in life as a farmer and he had worked as a salesman, a day labourer, a construction worker and a myriad of other jobs. His real success had been in building houses and then buying land and finally in housing developments. My mother said he had more money than he knew what to do with.
"So how's the gridiron hero," my uncle said.
"A second string offensive tackle is hardly a gridiron hero," I said.
He laughed and took my bags and put them in spacious area behind the seats of his truck.
"Sorry I couldn't come to Atlanta and pick you up," he said. 'I've started a new development a few miles up the road and it's taking all of my time." He glanced at me. "That's one of the reasons I wanted you to come. Sara is getting antsy up here by herself and she needs somebody to keep her company."
I had always gotten along well with my aunt Sara. For one thing, she was only five years older than me, fifteen years younger than my uncle. We both enjoyed the same kind of food, music and movies. We also both loved to read hard-boiled detective fiction books. My mother had gone through a period of religious fanaticism where such books were not allowed in the house and my aunt had kept them for me.
My uncle had protested at the deception and Sara had gotten angry for my sake. "It's not like I'm keeping drugs for him, for God's safe," she said. "They're just books."
Sara had kept my books and my secrets and she had listened to all the complaints and heartaches of a kid growing up and she had been just as much of a friend as my uncle.
She was waiting outside when my uncle drove up to the cabin. It was not what I expected. It was no rustic log cabin. Except that it was made of logs, it was a beautiful contemporary home with a wide front porch and a mountain stream running behind it. Sara looked as if she belonged to the house. She wore a man's red flannel shirt and jeans and boots. She was taller than my uncle by a couple of inches and her black hair was cut almost boyishly short. Sara was originally from Texas and there was some Mexican blood in her ancestry along with Swedish and English. The Swedish showed in her blue eyes and light skin but the heat of her Mexican blood showed in her aristocratic face and the voluptuous way she filled the man's shirt and jeans.
Her smile brightened when she saw me, and she hugged me tightly.
"Let me look at you," she said. "I think you've grown six inches. My goodness, you're big."
"Mr. hard body," my uncle said. "The coach has been making him lift weights and eat a lot of protein."
We all laughed and Sara showed me where I could put my stuff. She asked if I was hungry and I said starving and my uncle said for us to go ahead and eat because he had something he had to check on. He was out the door in a few minutes and Sara made us sandwiches and opened a beer for me. She poured herself red wine and we sat on the couch and ate and talked for what seemed like hours.
We had a lot to catch up on. We had more beer and more wine and I told her all about college and she told me all about living up in the woods. She enjoyed the tranquillity but she also needed some noise and people occasionally and lately she had not been able to drive into town.
I asked her why in the world she had agreed to move with George into the middle of nowhere. She seemed a little uneasy about my question and she didn't look directly at me when she answered. "It's just one of those things."
It was not much of an answer but it seemed to be the only one I was going to get.
Being in the woods was supposed to be comforting but I didn't sleep well that night. My uncle came in late. I heard voices in the hallway and in a few minutes a door shut. I just couldn't get to sleep and I thought about the books down in the main room by the fireplace and I slipped downstairs and found one of Sara's paperbacks and started back up to my room with it. George and Sara's room was on the downstairs floor at the end of the hallway by the stairs. At the door I heard the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking.
I knew I shouldn't have stopped but I did. I listened. Their voices talked softly to each other and I couldn't make out the words but I heard the soft cry in Sara's voice and then my uncle grunting savagely and then there was silence. I hurried up the stairs and closed the door to my bedroom. I had no interest in my book anymore. I was aroused in a way I hadn't been in a long time. I couldn't help myself. I closed my eyes and thought of my aunt Sara in bed naked and I stroked myself to completeness.
I awoke past ten in the morning. George was already out on the job and Sara was eating breakfast at out on the porch. The porch extended over the water and I got myself some coffee and sat down beside her at the table.
"Sleep well," she said.
"Not really," I said.
"I didn't either my first few nights up here. I think it's because it's so quiet. You want some eggs and bacon?"
"I'm not all that hungry," I said. "The coffee's good."
Sara nodded. She was dressed in a simple blue robe that zipped up the front. It didn't show any skin but the outline of her nipples pressed against the fabric. I had trouble swallowing my coffee. Of course I had thoughts about my aunt's good looks before last night but it had never been so intense before. I guess hearing her behind her bedroom door sort of opened up the floodgates.
When Sara looked up I looked away and my face was red. I had the feeling she knew where my eyes had been focused.
"I think we'll take a hike today," Sara said. "You need to work off some nervous energy to make you sleep better tonight."
"A hike?" I asked.
