Your House or Mine?

by Cynthia Thomason

  THE HOUSE LOOKED DIFFERENT as Wade drove to the front entrance a little after seven o’clock. Quieter, more snug in its protective nest of oaks and sweetbay trees. Cozy and secluded with the curtains drawn but rippling gently in the evening breeze. The lights on the veranda were golden in the first shadows of dusk. He stepped out of the car and admired the fanciful angled lines of the old structure, the clean lacework of the porch trim that he’d brought back to life, the rich primary colors of the stained glass in the turret windows.

  She really is a fine old house, he thought as he climbed the steps to the door. But tonight she looked even better than usual, and he knew why. Meg was inside and earlier, in his office, she’d been mysterious, alluring. He hadn’t become such a dunce with women that he couldn’t recognize when one was coming on to him. It had been a long time since he’d responded in an overtly physical way to a seductive suggestion, but when Meg had scurried out of his office with her cheeks flaming pink, he’d reacted instantly. It had been a good half hour before he’d been able to concentrate on his reports and even make that call to the Orlando PD.

  All day he’d thought about coming home to Meg and fantasizing about what the evening might bring. It was the first time in over two years he could walk into a house, even when his daughter and his father were there, and not feel lonely. He opened the door and stepped inside. He was tense but energized, even a little nervous, but not lonely.

  And not alone.

  There she was, waiting for him, standing under the foyer light. She wore a dress. It was frothy, soft and pale, and flowed about her in the breeze through the front door. The material outlined her slim legs and rippled over her shoulders, baring her arms. Her hair was a loose tumble of auburn waves. She was like a flower in a mist, delicate and wondrous. Wade smiled because he wasn’t a poet and yet those words had come to him. And, too, he smiled because she did.

  “You look nice,” he said, a pitifully insufficient observation from a man who’d just thought of himself as a poet.

  “Thanks. Are you hungry?”

  Oh, he was, though he hadn’t thought of food since coming in the door. “Sure.”

  “I’ve made a little supper. Do you want to get changed first?”

  “That’d be good. I think I’ll take a quick shower.”

  “Meet me in twenty minutes?”

  He nodded and went upstairs to his room. He was ready in fifteen minutes, freshly shaved and dressed in jeans and a soft denim shirt. He raked his fingers through his hair and went into the hallway expecting to go to the first floor and find Meg in the kitchen.

  Instead, she was sitting on the top step and turned when she heard his footsteps. “That was fast.”

  “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

  She held out her hand. He grasped it and helped her rise from the stairs. Then she gently tugged him toward the steps to the attic.

  “We’re going upstairs?” he asked.

  “That’s right. I’ve got a little surprise planned for dinner.”

  He willingly followed her up the narrow staircase to the third floor. She stepped aside at the opening to the attic storeroom, and he preceded her inside. And he was definitely surprised. Nothing was as he remembered. He knew most of the contents of the attic had been transferred to the lower floors for the auction, but obviously not everything had been carried down. Meg had used the remaining items to transform the once drab, dusty chamber into a sort of wonderland.

  Darkness had fallen outside, and here in the attic candles were the only illumination. They were everywhere. On the floor, the windowsills, flickering in the glass of the turret. Exotic scents wafted on the breeze. Ropes of tiny lights twinkled around the ceiling. Since it was June, Wade figured Meg must have uncovered Christmas lights among Amelia’s belongings.

  And right in the middle of the room was a bed, probably the old one that had covered Stewart Ashford’s mural for decades. Only now the rusty springs were gone and only the mattress remained. It was covered in cream-colored sheets and topped with a comfortably faded quilt. And serving as a headboard was the infamous painting itself. The robust nudes, zealous courtiers and mischievous cherubs seemed revitalized as if they understood what Wade was feeling, what this setting represented.

  Meg slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “It’s not too much, is it?”

  He covered her hand with his and felt her pulse, sure and strong in her wrist. “Only if you’re teasing me, Meg, because I can guarantee you that I’m having the same thoughts as those old boys up there on the wall.”

  She leaned close to him and he breathed in the citrus scent of her hair.

  “I’m not teasing you, Wade.” Her breasts brushed his arm. She lifted her face to his. “I’m tired of longing, Wade. I don’t want to be a still figure on the canvas of my own life. I want to feel alive again, and I want to feel that way with you.”

  Everything was suddenly perfect, better than he could have imagined. The woman, the attic room in this crazy old house, the yearning in his heart, the time. He knew he wanted Meg, wanted the loneliness and the loss to end with his arms wrapped around her.

  He scooped Meg into his arms and carried her to the bed. She was light in his embrace yet her arms around his neck felt strong, her body eager. She nibbled on his ear as he lowered her to the mattress and then she gently turned his face to hers for a kiss that nearly shattered him with its tenderness.

  He took his time undressing her, exposing first her shoulders. He kissed her neck, the hollow of her collarbone. He reached around her and found the zipper to her dress. It lowered with a subtle hiss, and he peeled the fabric away from her chest. She wore nothing underneath, and he explored one round, plump breast. He circled the nipple with his thumb and finger until it raised and puckered.

  And he kissed her deeply and completely, probing the warmth of her mouth with his tongue, sliding the tip behind her teeth and down the insides of her cheeks. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and nipped it with tiny bites until she writhed under him. When she arched her hips, he slid the dress over her thighs and down her legs where the fabric puddled at their feet.

  She fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, her small fingers working in a passionate frenzy. “I can’t seem to do this right,” she said breathlessly.

  He stilled her hand. “Here, let me.” He shed the shirt in seconds. Her hand spread over his chest and she began a slow seductive journey with her fingertips down his breastbone to the top of his jeans. He covered her hand and said, “I’ll get it.”

  “No, I will.” The button popped free, the zipper slid down. She worked his jeans and underwear over his hips and, with her feet, slid them down his legs. He kicked the clothing over the side of the mattress. She reached for him, wrapped her fingers around his penis. He groaned. She laughed softly. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this.”

  Oh, yes. She was.

  EVERY PART OF HER REACHED up and out to him. Every cell, every nerve ending, every inch of her skin craved what he offered so freely and so generously. Just as she’d imagined, Wade was a skilled, sensitive lover. His hands caressed while his lips teased and challenged. One moment he cradled her breasts as if they were made of porcelain. The next, his rough working man’s hands chafed them with a delicious ache that jolted through her like tiny electric shocks.

  Her pulse raced when he cupped her between her legs and rubbed her over her panties. She reveled in his touch with a primitive abandonment that left her heady with powers she’d forgotten she possessed. When his mouth closed around her nipple she hissed through her teeth. He suckled and licked the tip until her entire world was a mindless explosion of senses. He laughed, a throaty, deep-bellied sound that said he was as aware of his own powers as she was of hers. They were together on earth at this moment to please, to tease, to satisfy. And when his lips traced a warm, moist pathway down her belly, she nearly forgot to breathe.

  When, at long last, he slipped her panties over her hips and down he
r legs and straddled her, she was wet and ready, her body telling her she needed his to complete her. He was swollen and throbbing when he entered her. She gripped his shoulders, arched her back and drew him in deeper and deeper with each thrust. The last vision she had was of the stars outside the turret windows. She closed her eyes and let them burst inside her mind.

  They stayed in the attic two more hours, eating, talking, laughing and making love once more. And as the glorious minutes passed, Meg admitted to herself that she cared for Wade as she’d never thought she could. With every touch and whispered endearment, she was more ready to trust him and believe in his goodness and his honor. He’d made her want to give herself to a man again physically and emotionally. He’d made her confident and hopeful as she hadn’t been in many years—perhaps ever.

  When headlights speared through the rippled panes of the old colored glass, she moaned, “They’re back.” Wade sighed with acceptance of the inevitable and helped her gather their dishes and take them to the kitchen. They were in the foyer when Spencer came through the door.

  “Wow, Mom, the movie was way cool,” he said.

  “It was okay, I guess,” Jenny said, coming in behind him. “It held my interest in spite of being infantile.”

  Spencer snorted his opinion of her attempt at sophistication. “You screamed all the way through it.”

  “I only did that because it’s what you expected me to do.” She glanced back at him as she went into the parlor and picked up the television remote. “Remember, you promised you’d at least sit on Lady Jay tomorrow.”

  “I know and I will.”

  He trotted off toward the kitchen, leaving Wade and Meg with Gloria. “I hope you two found something interesting to do,” Gloria said. “Because you don’t know what you missed by staying home.” She followed Spencer out of the foyer but called over her shoulder, “And Meggie, I don’t have any idea how to get chocolate ice cream out of a T-shirt, so that’s your job.”

  When they were alone, Wade kissed Meg’s temple. “Welcome back to reality,” he said.

  ON FRIDAY everyone’s attention was focused on the auction which would begin at ten o’clock the next morning. Meg allowed prospective customers to enter the house and inspect the items which would be up for bid. While keeping one eye on the visitors, she meticulously double checked each detail related to the sale until she was certain the auction would proceed without a hitch.

  Later that afternoon, having finally persuaded her cousin to visit Amelia, she and Gloria drove to Shady Grove. Amelia did not acknowledge their presence, nor did she mention the strange message she’d whispered before when Meg told her the rumors about money being hidden somewhere at Ashford House. In fact, Meg discovered that her aunt had not stirred in more than twenty-four hours. Her nurse calmly and soothingly explained that Amelia’s death was imminent.

  “She seems so peaceful,” Gloria remarked as they drove back to the house. That simple observation brought a sense of acceptance which Meg had been resisting. It was true. Amelia was at peace.

  At eight o’clock Saturday morning, the grounds of Ashford House began filling with the vehicles of people who wanted to participate in the auction. By the start, the crowd of over a hundred people consisted of serious antique and collectible buyers, as well as folks who had known Amelia and Stewart for years and hoped to walk away from the sale with some trinket that would keep the Ashfords’ memories alive.

  Everyone had a job to do. Spencer and Gloria sat on the porch and registered bidders. Jenny tagged items as they were sold by writing the bidders’ numbers on stickers which she affixed to each piece. Having taken the day off work, Wade, along with his father, held up each item as it was described by Meg from her perch on a kitchen stepstool she’d selected as a temporary auctioneer’s podium.

  The sale progressed from the parlor to the dining room and the front veranda until Amelia’s possessions, even those bizarre things she’d purchased from catalogues, belonged to someone else. Even the lawn furniture and garden tools were auctioned off.

  Meg successfully maintained her focus as the things she’d grown familiar with over the years became someone else’s property. Some time during her preparations for the sale she’d begun to think of Amelia’s belongings as merely extensions of the woman she loved, expressions of the person Amelia had been as a young woman, as well as the slightly odd woman she’d become in her declining years. But Meg now knew her memories of her aunt would live in her heart forever.

  The sale lasted just over three hours, and was a huge success. Especially for Gloria, who tallied the final results and realized that she would be receiving eighty percent of twenty-two thousand, three hundred and twelve dollars. Colonial Auction, thanks to Meg’s efforts, would see an increase in its bank account of over four thousand.

  Once the bidders had left and most of the sold merchandise had been removed by the new owners, Wade went to the Quick Mart and bought sodas and beer and sandwiches. While everyone relaxed and talked about the most unusual moments of the sale, Meg’s cell phone rang. The caller was Nadine Harkwell, the administrator from Shady Grove. She informed Meg that Amelia Ashford had passed away fifteen minutes ago.

  WADE WALKED Meg to her car. “Let me go with you,” he said. “I don’t know what help I can be, but at least I’m an arm you can lean on.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thanks, but it’s not necessary. I know what has to be done.” And she did. Since having to face Amelia’s mortality, Meg had recalled the times in her aunt’s life when she’d talked about her death.

  “Just put me in a pretty box and bury me next to Stewie,” she’d said one night when she and Meg were sitting on the front porch and death had seemed a most remote possibility.

  Meg had promised.

  “And nothing fancy,” Amelia had added. “Ashes to ashes is what I believe in. I don’t want people blubbering over me or staring at some lacy old frock that makes me look like an old woman.”

  When she arrived at Shady Grove, Meg was informed that Amelia’s body had been moved to a waiting area in a building at the rear of the main facility. Meg steeled herself to say a final goodbye.

  She touched her aunt’s still warm cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. And when she left the room to meet with the representative she’d called from the Mount Esther Funeral Home, Meg knew she’d crossed a bridge of her own life. She’d said goodbye to a part of her childhood that was gone forever because the one person who’d shared it so sweetly and so intimately had started a new journey without her.

  IT WAS NEARLY DARK when Meg returned to Ashford House on Saturday evening. All arrangements had been made. Amelia’s ashes would be interred at a simple graveside ceremony on Tuesday morning. Meg had actually been spared most of the decisions with regard to her aunt’s final rest. Amelia had filled out the necessary paperwork with the funeral home several years before, and her wishes were clearly recorded. Strangely, Amelia had had the foresight to complete a document which declared her intentions with regard to her death, and yet she’d neglected to send Meg a copy of the deed to her house or even to inform her niece of its whereabouts.

  But at least now Meg didn’t regard that document as her insurance for a secure life. She now saw Wade as an integral part of her happiness. She loved him. He completed the part of her that had been a vacuum for the past years. She hoped that maybe now she could have what had been missing in her life—the sense of family she’d lost when David left her, the house that had been her safe haven, the future she’d come to believe would always be just out of reach. True, he hadn’t asked to share her future, but maybe…just the idea made her tremble with delight…maybe he would.

  She thought of Wade, Spencer, Jenny and Roone as she pulled into the drive of Ashford House. They could make a life together and create new memories to leave to their grandchildren of joyous times, warm nights, abiding love. Wade wouldn’t let her down. He was strong, protective, honorable.

  She had just started up the lane when
she saw headlights of a car approaching from the house. Meg guided her car to the fringe of the lane and got out. Betty Lamb leaned out her window and waved. “Hi, Meg,” she said. “I just heard about your aunt. I’m so sorry.”

  Meg forced a smile. “Thanks.”

  “I guess you’ll be going back to Orlando now that the sale’s over,” she added. “There’s nothing to keep you here.”

  Meg struggled to control her temper. “I haven’t made definite plans yet,” she said though she knew she would have to return to Orlando once a financial accounting of the auction had been completed. She still had obligations to Colonial Auction and Jerry. Through a haze of exhaustion that had suddenly overwhelmed her, Meg realized that Betty was still talking.

  “…technically you have thirty days to vacate the property, but as Wade and I just discussed, you probably won’t take that long.”

  Meg gave her head a shake, and forced her mind to focus. “What?”

  She picked up a document from the seat beside her. “The Right to Purchase Agreement. Wade just signed it. He’d only been waiting until Mrs. Ashford wasn’t a factor in his decision so he could officially make the house his. So, as I said, there’s really no reason for you to stay. Your obligation to this old place is finally over.”

  Meg tried to make sense of Betty’s words. Wade had signed the agreement? Ashford House was his? There was no reason for her to stay? Her head swam. He’d only been waiting for Amelia to die to press his claim?

  Betty reached a hand out the window, her attempt at a comforting gesture. “Are you okay?”

  Meg ran back to her car. She was only faintly aware of Betty calling out her ridiculous hope that Meg would have a good evening.

  She leaned her forehead against the steering wheel and struggled to draw a breath through the tightness in her chest. She’d held back her tears when she saw her aunt for the last time at Shady Grove. But they fell freely now. That night at the spring when she’d questioned Wade about the agreement, he’d promised her he wouldn’t break his word to Amelia. He’d said he would wait until after the auction to press his claim. Well, he had waited—a few short hours. And now, with the auction barely over, with Amelia gone for what seemed the blink of an eye, he’d already signed the papers which forced Meg out of Ashford House. It was obviously what he’d intended to do all along.