by S. E. Lund
Apparently, he was involved in a single vehicle crash that killed him early on the previous Tuesday morning. That made me feel somewhat better, in a strange way. Maybe he didn't kill himself after all. The accident happened early in the morning so perhaps he had fallen asleep at the wheel and went into the ditch.
I rented an SUV and drove to the Millbrook cemetery just in time for the service. I found my way to the family row of seats and went to Mr. and Mrs. McNeil so I could pay my respects.
We exchanged a few words, and they thanked me for coming. I sat in a seat in the back and waited for the service to start, checking around for Grant's little sister, Penny, but she wasn't there. That surprised me. Grant and Penny were very close so I would expect her to show up.
Finally, just a couple of minutes before the service was scheduled to start, Penny arrived, stumbling over from the road that circled the small cemetery. I felt bad when I saw she was either drunk or stoned. Her long blonde hair was still wet as if she had just come out of the shower moments before. Her dress was wrinkled, and her shoes were spike heels that sunk into the soft grass, making her gait even more unsteady.
"Sorry, everybody," she said, her voice audibly slurred, "but as usual I'm the one holding up everything."
She went over and sat beside her father and the pastor began the service.
He spoke of Grant's service to the country, and his heroism. How he'd struggled after he returned to find his place in society and how the community had failed him, noting that Grant waited for months to get an appointment for mental health care.
I knew then that the accident wasn't an accident after all. In the end, he had taken his life when he couldn't find the help he needed. It was a familiar story to those of us who came back from the war.
When the sermon was finished, we each threw a shovel-full of dirt over his coffin. Afterward, we went to the McNeil home on the outskirts of Millbrook. There, in the old rancher Mr. McNeil had built himself, we had coffee and a light lunch of sandwiches and small cakes. I spoke with Mr. And Mrs. McNeil, reminiscing about my time with Grant in Afghanistan.
While we were speaking, a commotion erupted in the other room, and I heard a woman's shrill voice, clearly distraught. I went to the kitchen and it was Penny. She was standing at the sink, facing a man I didn't recognize.
"He killed himself okay?" she said to the man, her eyes tearful. "He was a fucking hero. The army made him do bad things over there and he couldn't live with it. He hated the war. He hated it. It killed him."
"Penelope," her mother said in a hushed voice. "Get control over yourself. For God's sake..."
"Well, it did!" Penny said, her eyes wide, her face flushed.
I went over to her. "Hey," I said and put my hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay? Maybe we should get you out of here."
"Oh, it's you," she said when she recognized me. "Mr. Richie Rich himself. The one who got away. Sure, you can help me. You could have married me instead of leading me on."
I frowned, for while we had fucked a dozen or so times when I was in Montgomery on leave with Grant, she never gave me any sense that she thought it was anything more than fun.
I pulled her to the rear of the house, finding a long hallway and taking her to the back, away from the other guests. She was clearly drunk or high, and while I understood that people dealt with grief differently, I had a feeling this was something common for her.
"Let's get you somewhere quiet," I said and took her into the back room. I glanced around and realized it had been Grant's bedroom when he was a boy. On the walls were diplomas and ribbons from track and field meets and baseball games. On the shelf were trophies from when Grant was involved in high school sports. The walls were filled with pictures of him from his days in the military. On a shelf were pictures of him with his wife and two boys.
I felt a choke in my throat when I saw a photograph of him with his boys...
Penelope sat on the bed and cried, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
I sat beside her and took her hand in mine, wanting to comfort her. When I did, the sleeve of her dress pulled up and I saw track marks on the soft skin on the inside of her forearm.
She was an addict.
What had happened to her in the time between our last meeting and now?
It had been three years since I slept with her, but she looked so much older when I saw her up close. Her skin was sallow, and her teeth looked stained and one was chipped.
Mrs. McNeil came inside and saw us sitting side by side on the bed.
"Trust you to always make a mess of everything," Mrs. McNeil said, her hands on her hips. "Why did you have to talk about it like that? People don't want to know."
"They should know," Penelope said. "They need to know 'cause it's just going to keep happening."
Penelope turned to me and slipped her arms around me, weeping into my shoulder.
Mrs. McNeil shook her head. "She should leave. She's in no shape to be here. Can you take her home?"
I nodded. "Sure. No problem."
I stood and pulled Penelope up, leading her to the back door. Before I did, I stopped and extended my hand to Mrs. McNeil.
"I'm so sorry about Grant," I said.
"We all are," she replied and clasped my hand.
Penny and I left the house and I got her seated in the SUV, entering her address on the other side of town in the car’s navigation system. When we arrived at her place, I was shocked to see was a run-down heap that looked like an old rooming house.
"This is it?" I asked, horrified that she was living there.
"Yeah, some of us don't have billions of dollars," she said and stumbled up the front steps to the front door. I followed her up the stairs, wanting to see where she lived and if she was going to be safe.
Inside, we went up to the second floor and a rear bedroom that was where she lived. The house had been divided up into suites and she had a single room with a hot plate and mini fridge. There was a bed against one wall and a chair in front of a television.
I checked the refrigerator. There was nothing inside except some moldy leftover pizza and a few bottles of condiments. Drug paraphernalia littered the kitchen table, including syringes, spoons and a candle plus a lighter and some foil. An ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts topped it off.
"Are you going to be okay?" I asked, checking my watch. "I have a flight to catch to LA."
"Yeah, I'll be okay." She glanced away, not meeting my eyes. I turned to the door, feeling bad at leaving her but I had to get to the airport soon.
"That's what Grant always said, too," she muttered under her breath.
I turned back. "If you need help, I can call someone," I said when she sat down on her chair and held her head in her hands.
"The only thing I need is twenty bucks, so I can get high," she replied and looked up, meeting my eyes. Hers were red and she looked desperate.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I thumbed through my bills and took out one hundred in twenties.
"Here," I said. "Get some food. Take care of yourself. Get some help, Pen."
"Get some help," she said and took the money. I could practically see the wheels turning in her mind as she counted out the bills. She was likely figuring out how much of a party she could have on that money. "You think this will help me? All it will do is keep me from being sick for a few days."
I held my hands up, realizing what she said was true but not knowing what I could do in that moment to truly help her.
"Give me a call or email me if you need anything," I said. "I can wire you some money."
"Okay," she said, and she looked up at me. I saw some small bit of gratitude in her eyes, but there was also a deep sense of helplessness in them as well.
Like she was lost and she knew it.
I left the house, walked down the stairs to the SUV, a sick feeling in my stomach.
The drive to the airport in Montgomery took me back past
the cemetery and I saw the mound of dirt where Grant's body was buried. Sadness filled me at the carnage left by the wars on people back home.
It was then I got the idea for the foundation I would start and run. It would be in Grant's memory and would provide for mental health care for returning veterans and their families. If I could stop one vet with PTSD from killing himself, maybe, maybe, all my father's money might be of some value.
My flight to LAX was uneventful, which was just the way I liked it.
I had a first-class seat on an American Airlines flight, and spent my time writing a long email to my accountant at MBS, asking him about doing the work to set up a foundation in Grant's memory. I detailed what I wanted the foundation to do and asked him to do the leg work figuring out what needed to be done to get it up and running.
The rest of the flight I spent reading the latest newspaper, trying to get my head around the meetings I'd have all day at the new office. There was a convention in town and I was attending several sessions to meet with other news types and learn what was the latest thinking in keeping the print news business alive.
I'd take a taxi right to the convention center, where I'd have a room, and would spend the following morning attending the closing session. Sunday after lunch, I’d drive to David's mansion in the Hollywood Hills. We'd made this plan months earlier, and now, finally, I was there and the timing around the convention made me glad I'd put the trip off. It gave me the chance to attend Grant's memorial service and take care of Penelope.
There'd be a lot of hard partying at David's place once the EP was finished, but I wasn't up to it. Not after my experience in Millbrook.
David was in the middle of recording a new EP and so interspersed between recording sessions, we could catch up. I loved to listen to David and his band practice. He got all the musical talent in our family, taking after our mother. I got business sense from my father.
Luckily, that meant there was no competition between us and we could just be brothers.
I arrived at the convention center just in time for a Skype session with Ella.
I glanced at my watch, calculating how late it was back in Manhattan. It was then I saw a text from Ella.
ELLA: Hey, Tarzan, it's me, Jane. How's the Jungle?
I smiled.
JOSH: Getting ready to swing my way up to my room. Hang on.
It was midnight in Manhattan and I expected Ella would be really tired and wanting whatever sexting we were going to do to get started.
ELLA: I'm waiting with bated breath...
JOSH: Skype me. I'm more than ready.
I had never had Skype sex before and was curious how it would go. I opened my laptop and sure enough, in a couple of minutes, Ella Skyped me and a window opened on my laptop screen.
She was there in all her glory, lying back on her bed, holding her cell up so I could take her delicious nakedness in.
"God, you're a sight for sore eyes," I said appreciatively.
"Show me how excited you are to see me," she said in a breathy voice.
So I did, angling my cell down so she could see just how excited I was...
I saw her eyes widen in appreciation of my very erect and excited cock, which I had in my hand and was slowly stroking.
"Spread your legs and let me see you touch yourself," I said, my voice commanding.
She did, and my dick jumped in my hand when I saw her slip two fingers between her lips to stroke her clit. She was nice and wet and ready.
"Damn, I wish I was there, so I could lick you," I said with an appreciative groan.
"Oh, God, I wish you were here, so you could lick me, too," she said and flashed me her eyes, and then moved her cell lower so I could see her breasts, her erect nipples, and then her hand once more, her fingers stroking herself.
I stroked my cock a bit more intently while I imagined her using a dildo on herself.
"I want to see you use B.O.B.," I said, breathlessly.
"You do, do you?" she replied, her own voice breathless. "I happen to have it right here."
She pulled out a flesh-colored dildo, which was impressive and slightly wobbly in her hand. I watched, open mouthed, while she slid it against her clit.
"That's nice," I said, my hand moving over my dick, spreading some fluid over the head, wishing it was her mouth or it was inside of her silky hotness.
"You like this?" she asked and slowly pushed the head of the dildo inside of her.
I groaned. "Oh, yes, I do. Very much. Fuck yourself with it."
She fumbled with the cell, trying to find a place for it that would allow her to use both hands. Finally, after several failed attempts, she managed to perch it on the bed in such a way that I could see her groin while she slid the dildo inside and played with her clit.
"This won't take long," I managed, between gritted teeth.
"Me either," she replied.
Both of us pleasured ourselves while we watched each other and soon, she was tensing up the way she did when she was just about to come.
"I'm going to..." she said, her voice tense.
"Oh, God," I groaned. "Let me see you come. Let me see your face."
She turned to face the camera, adjusting it, and then I watched while she came, her body arcing in, her fingers slowing over her clit, the dildo remaining inside of her. I heard her gasping, breathing out as she orgasmed.
It set me over and I pulled hard on my cock until the first waves of my orgasm began and I ejaculated, my eyes practically rolling back in my head. I wanted to watch her face while I came, so I struggled to keep my eyes open.
Finally finished, I leaned back in the chair, my throbbing dick still in my hand.
"God, that was better than I imagined," I said, smiling. I watched while she removed the dildo and lay on her side, facing the camera.
"It was good, wasn't it?" she managed, smiling back. "I've never done that before."
"Me, neither," I replied. "Not exactly like that."
Her eyes widened. "You have sexted before?"
"A couple of times," I said and grabbed a tissue, wiping myself off. "But not like this."
"I wish you were here, so we could snuggle," she said and pouted. "I've grown accustomed to your presence in my bed. Or should I say, in your bed."
"Me, too," I replied. "We'll do this every night if you want."
She smiled. "If I want..."
"Well, I definitely want it. Skype sex like this is a keeper."
She yawned. "I better go to sleep. Early morning with mom and dad."
"Okay," I said. “I’ll be in sessions all day and there’s a late session on Sunday night so I probably won’t have much time to Skype with you, but you should text me or we can talk.”
“I will.”
“Good night, Ella. I miss you.”
"Good night, Josh. I miss you too.”
The session ended, and I sat there for another moment, recovering from my orgasm. It dulled the sense of gloom that had pervaded my mind since I'd learned about Grant's suicide but only just. I had another quick shower and went to bed, thinking to myself about Ella's and my session of mutual masturbation.
It wasn't the real thing, but it was the next best.
The following day went fast, with me keeping busy attending sessions in the morning, afternoon and evening.
The dinner session was on print journalism in the twenty-first century digital age. Afterwards, I met a few colleagues in the business for drinks.
We spent the next hour talking news, and I loved every moment of it, eager to learn from others in the field and to share what we were doing with The Chronicle.
"You're ambitious to try to revive it," Callie Summers, a newspaper owner from Idaho said.
"Ambitious, but also maybe foolish," I replied with a laugh. "It's expensive to find good talent. It's the biggest expense, but the most important."
Callie was a bit older than me, attractive in a very calculated way. She'd sat beside me and tried to engage me in a side con
versation several times. I answered her perfunctorily to be polite, but I was more interested in the larger conversation and would turn back as soon as I could.
We talked shop for a while longer, and when I saw it was already ten thirty, I’d had enough.
"Well, gentlemen and ladies," I said and stood, slipping my cell into my jacket pocket. "I must say goodnight. It's been a pleasure and if any of you are ever in Manhattan, please give me a call."
We said goodbye and I left the bar, walking to the elevators so I could go up to my room.
Callie followed me, rushing to catch up. When the doors opened, she got in beside me.
"You're leaving so soon," she said and stood close to me. "It’s only nine. I hoped you and I could have a drink together, compare notes."
"I'm pretty tired," I replied, trying to be nice. "Maybe tomorrow between sessions."
"Care to come to my room and have a nightcap?" she asked, stepping even closer. She ran her fingers up my lapel and stroked my shoulder.
"Sorry," I said and removed her hand. "I'm seeing someone."
"So am I," she said in a very affected sultry voice. "What happens at conventions, stays at conventions is my motto."
I shook my head. "Sorry," I said and smiled. "I'm flattered that you're interested, but I value fidelity in all things, business and romance."
She pouted. "That's too bad," she said. "Your loss."
I didn't respond, not wanting to confirm or deny but then I changed my mind. "Actually, My lover and I are going to Skype so don't worry about me. I'll be just fine."
"Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby," she said and shrugged. "If you change your mind and want something real and hot, I'm in room 912."
The elevator door opened and off she got. I smiled to myself as the doors closed, glad that our little encounter was over. She knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to try for it. I guess business people had to be somewhat ambitious and unafraid of failure. If I hadn't been seeing Ella, I probably would have turned her down anyway. She was a bit too forward for my tastes. I preferred someone who I was mutually attracted to, and not just an easy fuck.
I got off the elevator at my floor and went to my room. I had a quick shower before sitting on my bed and checking my cell.
