by Alice Ward
But I remembered one thing clearly.
I remembered the day I murdered my uncle.
CHAPTER TWO
Auggie
Sitting on the wrap-around porch of our farm-style house, I was deeply immersed in the past. There I was, surrounded by all the people and things that made my life the happiest imaginable. All but one person; my first-born son.
I suppose to the onlooker, I appeared content and complete. My long coppery hair was tied with a length of yellow ribbon, and the legs of my jeans were folded up, exposing my pedicured feet. While my freckles had faded somewhat, my green eyes still never missed a thing. I looked like a carefree farm girl although I was the wife of a multi-millionaire. I’d never known what it meant to be hungry or to yearn for the unreachable — with the exception of my child. He was gone from me in so many senses.
Ford had been a happy, normal child. We’d nicknamed him for my maiden name, Langford. Although he was the fourth Worthington LaViere, it was simpler. Maybe that’s where we made the first mistake; the first alienation.
Somewhere along the way, my baby boy changed. He began to idealize the crueler things in life. It was the dark side of his LaViere genetics. My husband, Worth, had managed to subdue that tendency within himself, re-directing the controlling, vindictive, lack of conscience onto the path of a psychology professional. He’d built a business empire and developed a soul. I like to think I had something to do with that, but perhaps I took too much credit. More likely the driving force had been a hatred of his own father. A man who had given in to the darkness Worth had banished.
Worth’s father had seized whatever he wanted, including my own mother. Together they had created a child, Linc, who inherited the worst traits of both parents. It was Linc and his fateful demise that had driven my own son from me. Kidnapped and held ransom by Linc, Ford had gripped the pocket knife intended for his father’s Christmas gift. He had coldly and without remorse driven it into Linc’s neck, watching as the blood seeped out over his grandfather’s heirloom desk.
There was no residual emotion. It hadn’t been a stoic response; it had been the cold and calculated murder of a man who threatened him. A man who would have been capable of the same act.
When Ford began to express jealousy and resentment toward his younger siblings, Worth and I switched into protective mode. We had to protect our twins, Marga and Mark. It wasn’t a place any parent wanted to find themselves, especially since Worth was a respected psychologist and our living parents were model citizens.
As I began to fear my son more and more, and as he became increasingly out of control, there seemed no alternative but to agree to the judge’s orders that Ford be institutionalized. But the nightmare didn’t end there. He had been beaten and managed to escape, and we knew it would only get worse if he were sent back. We had no idea what to do, then an unlikely savior stepped in.
My personal assistant, Bernie Livingston, was the only person willing to sacrifice his life as a kidnapper and run away from everything he’d ever known. He loved my son and had been a surrogate father to Ford when Worth was otherwise occupied with his many businesses. No, we weren’t your average American family, but amongst the old money equine set, it’s sad to say we weren’t that unusual.
Bernie and Ford disappeared, and only Worth had some idea of where they were. It was too dangerous for me to know; I had the younger children to protect. I knew Worth sent Bernie money regularly to keep them both comfortable. I remembered the day, a few years earlier when Worth had taken me into his study and relayed his fears. Bernie was no longer drawing money from the offshore account. The balance hadn’t been touched in several months.
There were no communications, no contact information and no way that Worth could track them down. I remembered the fear that had crept over me, mixed with an intense guilt. What sort of parent was I?
I knew — and so did Worth. We had both been raised by a ruthless parent who had considered their own position before that of their offspring. We both understood what it was to be an outcast. If it hadn’t been for our twins, we would never have sent him away. We had to protect them, and Ford represented a very real, very potent danger. He hated them and would stop at nothing to harm them, killing them even. He had expressed desires of suicide, so he was afraid of nothing.
The entire plan had been devised one horrible night. The night of Ford’s escape. There was no time for careful deliberation. He was wanted by the law, and we had the money to get him away. We did what any petrified, thoughtless parent with everything to lose would do. We used our money to send him away.
At least I tell myself that’s what most people would do.
Even now the guilt has not lessened. I knew Worth felt it too — although perhaps to a different extent than I. Until that talk in the study, he’d known how to get Bernie’s attention. All he’d had to do was discontinue the allowance. If the money dried up, Bernie would have contacted us. It felt like some sort of macabre tumor inside me. As long as I ignored it, I was safe. The moment I began to feel for it, to consider its effect on my life, it would blossom and smother me from within.
I substantiated all this with the instinct to protect the twins — but there was a deeper, more horrible reason… I didn’t want to deal with Ford. I’d had a lifetime of my mother and then periods with Worth’s father and our brother, Linc. That was it. I was done. May I be damned to hell for thinking that way, but I couldn’t help it.
My reverie was interrupted by the sight of Worth’s Escalade approaching down the winding road. We’d bought a former Arabian horse complex and had converted it into a series of gentleman hobby farms with a central breeding and sales facility. We’d lived there since Ford left and I would never leave. It would be the only way he’d ever find us — if he chose to.
“You look like a young girl dressed like that,” Worth said, walking up the drive and climbing the porch steps. He had begun dressing a bit more casually, and I felt a pull in my tummy at the sight of his tall, well-muscled body and tanned arms. White teeth dramatized his loving smile as he bent to kiss me. I felt the flutter strengthen.
“Are you in the mood for a young girl?” I retorted saucily, winking at him.
“I’m in the mood for you,” he assured me and took the glass of sweet tea I offered him from the pitcher on the table next to me. He took a long drink and exhaled. “Boy, I needed that,” he said with a groan of appreciation. “Where are the twins?”
“They’re around,” I said, looking toward the training barn. “We had a new white stallion arrive today, and they’re both rather enchanted with him. I’m afraid they inherited their love of horses from me.”
“I could think of far worse things to inherit,” he mused and once again I was thrust into the memories of Ford. I knew to what he was referring.
“Worth, you’ve never…” I let the question hang in the air, but he shook his head. I looked down and swallowed hard. I wasn’t sure whether it was Ford I missed or the guilt of banishment I regretted more. I hoped I might see him again, somewhere, sometime in the future. The twins were sixteen now and would be driving soon. He was no longer a danger to them. “Do you think there’s any way we could…” again I let the sentence remain unfinished.
Worth shook his head. “All the trails have dried up, Auggie. He’s a fully grown, mature man now. If he wanted us, he knows where to find us.” He refilled his glass and took a sip, setting it on the arm of his chair as he looked out to the west where the sun was beginning to seek its night. Neither of us dared to speculate whether Ford was even still alive. That thought couldn’t be allowed to take root.
I saw Worth’s arm go up in a wave toward the barn. I turned and saw the twins waving back as they approached. Both of them had inherited my coppery hair and green eyes, but they were tall and slender as Worth had been when he was their age. Marga was a beauty, I had to admit. Her cheekbones were prominent, and she had a million-dollar smile, which she flashed often. Mark was a bit more on the rese
rved side, but I’d heard him talking to someone on his phone one night as I passed by his room. It wasn’t the voice he used with his male friends. I knew it was only a matter of time before they were both dating and driving around the countryside as I had at their age.
Marga was the apple of Worth’s eye. As far as he was concerned, she could do nothing wrong, and she played that card often. Mark, although quieter, didn’t seem bothered by the imbalance of attention. He knew I loved him, though. Of that there was never any doubt. After losing Ford, I clung to him even tighter, never wanting to let another baby boy go. If anything, I loved him, needed him, too much.
I handed Marga and Mark a glass of tea, and they sat on the porch swing side by side. Twins seemed to have a special bond. That made me happy. They were a picture, sitting there in mucking boots with hay in their hair and the smell of horses radiating from their perspiring bodies. “Dinner will be ready in a half hour. You two need to shower.”
Marga nodded and emptied her drink. She stood and gave Worth a kiss on the cheek as she went inside. Mark remained behind.
“Is there something you need, son?” Worth asked Mark.
Mark looked at me, a bit uncomfortably. I got the message. “I need to check on dinner. See you in a bit,” I said and went inside.
CHAPTER THREE
Worth
“What’s up, son?” I asked him. Mark was at that transitional age when boys became men. I had noticed from time to time that he wanted to have man to man interaction but wasn’t sure if I was open to that quite yet. I had never related well to children, and we hadn’t been terribly close before this. Marga was a little manipulator; pure Auggie in that girl. Mark was different. Serious and a deep thinker.
“Dad, don’t know if it’s anything, but you know that farm to the west over the ridge?” He sat up straighter, telling me he had something serious to discuss.
I nodded. “Yes, the one that sold recently?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Well, I was exercising one of the horses out that way earlier today, and a guy was sitting on a horse looking in our direction. He just stayed in one place; wasn’t riding anywhere. He seemed to be nosy, if you know what I mean.”
“I see,” I answered and thought a moment. “Did you feel as though he was up to something?”
“No, not really, but I don’t know. It’s just that Mom is boarding some pretty expensive animals, and it seems like a coincidence that he’s so interested in what’s going on over here. You think he’s a competitor?”
I shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe he’s just interested in your mother’s operation. It’s the only one of its kind in this half of the country, you know.”
“Yeah, I guess. He just kind of creeped me out, is all. False alarm probably.”
I could tell he wasn’t ready to let it go that easily. “Why don’t you keep this between us and just sort of leave one eye in that direction?” I suggested, which seemed to appease his concern.
“I’ll do that, Dad. Well, better get that shower.” He popped up, and his body language suggested he was feeling some sense of relief now. I watched him go inside. He was a younger version of me except he had Auggie’s hair. His shoulders were broadening, and I had a fairly good idea he was attracting some attention at school from the girls. He was playing basketball on the school team, and basketball ruled in Kentucky. We’d be talking about college soon.
I followed Mark into the house, and the aroma of fried chicken caused my stomach to growl. I’d been too busy to get lunch and even if I had, Letty’s fried chicken was famous around these parts. Her mother worked for Harlan Sanders years earlier when he started his first restaurant down in Corbin. She knew the recipe and had passed it down to Letty, and consequently my grateful dinner plate.
I thought about our previous housekeeper for a moment, and a pang hit. Betsy passed on two years earlier from cancer. It had been rough. For the last year, she’d been in hospice, and there wasn’t much we could do to help her. She’d taken care of us the entire time we were married and had been a part of the family. I missed her.
Letty was different from Betsy. She was opinionated and not afraid to voice it. She’d raised a son who had gotten into trouble and was now a permanent resident at the reformatory on the other side of the county. Letty had come to Oldham County to find a job so she could be closer to him for visiting days. Someone had sent her over to our place, and she turned up one day at the door.
Auggie had invited her in, and I happened to be home that afternoon doing some paperwork. Letty was school simple but street smart. That made a nice contrast to our household and we’d hired her that same day. She immediately moved into a bedroom-sitting room combination off the kitchen and pretty much ruled that part of the house. I think Auggie was even a little afraid of her, but Letty’s presence made it possible for Auggie to spend more time down at the barns, so it was an agreeable truce between the two of them.
I washed up in the downstairs bath and had enough time to check my email before heading to the dining room. It wasn’t a particularly elegant room. That was Auggie’s desire, though. She wanted understated, comfortable living for the family and I didn’t care so I let her have carte blanche. My office was my territory, though, and she knew enough to stay out.
Everyone had wandered in when the swinging door from the kitchen burst open, and Letty steamed in with a tray filled with bowls and a platter of exactly what I’d hoped — fried chicken.
“Smells good, Letty,” I complimented her, but she just sniffed.
“When ain’t it?” she popped back at me in her salty style.
“I remember a couple of times, but I know better than to mention it,” I handed her back, and she cursed under her breath. “Letty, no one can beat your chicken,” I thought to add in case she was planning revenge.
“Nobody alive,” she confirmed, referring to the Colonel’s demise years earlier. She scuffled back to the kitchen and reappeared with pitchers of milk and sweet tea.
Auggie sat at the opposite end of the table and kept quiet. She was in one of her sadder moods and wasn’t up to taking on Letty’s snappy wit. I knew how she felt, and I knew why. What I didn’t know was what to do about it.
After dinner, including apple pie ala mode, the kids disappeared, and Auggie and I went into the home theatre room to put on something relaxing. We opted for a screening of Casablanca, and I mentally compared Auggie to Ingrid Bergman’s character. She was like the fictional woman in her defense of her husband. She would have shot Bogie if it’d meant getting what she wanted. I was glad to be married to Auggie. She would always be loyal to me. She might be furious with me, but she’d never compromise our relationship. We’d been through too much and learned very harsh lessons. While Bergman had a recessive grace, Auggie was bold and independent. Bergman’s character would have bored me to death.
Auggie was pensive as we went to bed and I was glad that Mark hadn’t mentioned the nosy neighbor. I knew who she was thinking about, and I wanted her to focus on positive things. Mark and Marga would be off to school before too long, and she’d have a lot of time on her hands.
“Auggie…” I began as she emerged from the bathroom in her pale blue night shirt and sat on the bed next to me. Her breasts were rounded beneath the fabric, and she could only be described as ripe.
“Yes?” she answered, stifling a yawn.
“Do you want more children?” I asked in a tentative voice.
My question took her by surprise. “More children? Why do you ask? Do you?” She was flustered, and I took the opportunity to graze her nipple with my fingertip. That always excited her.
“Wouldn’t matter,” I murmured, busily swirling my fingers over her. “Just thought I’d leave it on the table for you to think about.”
“I don’t think so, Worth. We could be grandparents before too long, you know,” she started and then went on, “in fact, we might be right now.”
I knew that was it. I knew she was thinking of Ford. I had no
desire to have more children, but I figured it would be priming the pump if I got her thinking about the topic. I moved my lips down and lifted her sleep shirt. I dragged my tongue over her swollen nipples, and she went silent and a little limp in order to enjoy the sensation.
“That feel good?” I whispered.
She nodded and laid back upon the pillows. As my tongue lingered on her breast, my hand slid into the waistband of her panties. She was wet and swollen, and I knew she wanted me. “I love you, Auggie,” I whispered into her ear as two fingers entered her warm body. She shuddered. I knew her ears were sensitive and felt her response as her nipples hardened even more beneath my fingertips.
“Worth,” she breathed out and her eyes closed halfway as she fumbled for my cock. “I need you,” she whimpered.
“I know, baby, I know,” I said and pulled off her night shirt. My pants found their way to the floor, and I lowered myself between her legs, entering her in one sharp thrust. She wriggled and sighed. The yearning she knew so well was being fed with a fire hot burning in my groin.
Auggie’s body had ripened with motherhood. Her breasts were fuller, and her hips had softened from equestrienne bones to the contours of womanly hips. I lifted her bottom, and she answered by wrapping her legs around my waist. This was not the normal sweet lovemaking. This was a reclamation of something we’d lost along the way. I claimed her, over and over and she was submitting. Her nails raked down my chest and folded alongside my neck as she hoarsely repeated my name.
Feeling the rising in both of us, I sank myself within her more furiously than I’d done in a long time. She met every thrust with a raising of her hips. I heard the orgasm in her voice and let it wrap me in convulsions before I released my own. It was like that with us — it always had been. We were timed like an orchestra and perfectly in tune. I stayed inside her warmth and brushed her nipple with my tongue. She convulsed again, and it gave me a helluva turn-on to know I still remembered her magic buttons.
