The Good Sister: Part One

by London Saint James

  “I’m nothing you make me feel,” he murmured.

  “Please, Reid.”

  He kissed me hard, and stopped me from saying anything further. When he released me from his kiss, he said something else under his breath. I couldn’t make it out. In a blinding move Reid flipped me over onto my stomach, slapped his hard cock down between my seam, and rode the crease of my ass. He pushed his throbbing dick up and down the line of me, using my wetness to allow the glide between my white globes. He held his hand to the small of my back and pressed. I arched my ass into him while his other hand held his dick into the line of me.

  He rocked into my wetness then slid up. He was pressing his manhood between the firm cheeks of my ass, pumping.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He thrust. Grunted and cursed, “Fucking hell,” as he released warm silken juices over the surface of my back.

  I glanced over my shoulder at him. I didn’t understand.

  Reid picked up his shirt. He twisted it as though he wanted to rip it to shreds. He wiped his cooling juices from the curve of my back. I had the distinct feeling he was removing the evidence of our debauchery from my pale skin. Out of sight, out of mind. He wanted me, us, out of his mind.

  Once I was clean he ordered, “Trinity, put your nightgown back on.” He yanked his jeans up, securing only one button.

  I did what he asked. I placed the nightgown back over my flesh and slipped my sheer panties on. I looked at him. Hurt. Confused. Why was he so mad?

  Dropping my gaze from him I asked, “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong?”

  Reid reached out and touched my cheek. “No, baby bird, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me.”

  “I don’t understand, Reid.”

  “Trinity, I don’t make love. I fuck.”

  His words stabbed through me and hit my already unstable heart.

  “So…”

  I dropped my chin. My shoulders hunched.

  “So I don’t want to fuck you.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks and I whimpered. “Because… Because, I’m not good enough?”

  “Trinity, you deserve someone who will love you, make love to you, not fuck you and leave you. I’m the one who isn’t good enough.”

  I knew he was going to leave. That didn’t matter to me.

  “I know you are leaving,” I muttered. “It’s because I’m a virgin, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Reid replied, leaving his answer at that.

  “But—”

  He was going to be cruel. I knew his expression well. I read the harshness and the hard set of his jaw as it became evident. He reached out, held my chin in his hand firmly, almost roughly, and lifted.

  I closed my eyes in order to shut myself off from this pain.

  “Look at me, Trinity.”

  Knowing I had no other choice, no way to hide from this, I slowly opened my eyes.

  His voice was hard. “Is that what you want, Trinity? Do you want to get fucked? Be nothing but a one-time fuck?”

  Pain raged within me.

  “I want you,” I mumbled, “any way you will let me have you.”

  “You have no idea what you’re asking for.” He shook his head. “Come on,” he said. He took my hand and helped me up. “It’s late. You shouldn’t be out here.”

  “Reid?”

  “What?” he grumbled.

  “If I were someone else…” I crossed my arms around my midriff. “Someone like my sister, bold, confident, experienced, would things have been different between us tonight?”

  Reid turned his head from my face.

  “Maybe.”

  “I know you are leaving in a couple of days, and I know this doesn’t matter to you, but I already live with a lot of regrets, a lot of fears, and this is something I don’t want to regret so I’m just going to say it, okay?”

  “Stop,” Reid said as he proceeded to walk out of the entrance of the garden. “Just stop, Trinity.”

  “I love you, Reid,” I blurted out. “I have loved you from the first day I saw you, and I will always love you. I don’t expect anything from you. I just…” I paused. “I just wanted to say the words and never regret not saying them to you.”

  He stopped. Stood silent with his bare back facing me. Moonlight shimmied over the strength of him. One hand gripped his shirt in a tight fist. I counted the seconds before he moved, before he finally ran his hand through his hair and grabbed the back of his neck. It took twenty-eight seconds before he deliberately placed one foot in front of the other.

  Heading off toward his house, I heard the low murmur of his voice float back to me on the breeze like a dream.

  “I’m sorry, baby bird,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Chapter Four

  September13th

  “Trinity,” my mother called.

  “What, mom?”

  “You received something in the mail. It’s from Reid.”

  I jumped up from my bed and flung open my bedroom door. I stood, rather impatiently, with my hand held out in front of me.

  “What is it?”

  “A post card, from France.”

  “Give it here.” She handed it over. “Thanks,” I said, dismissing my mother none too gracefully. I closed the door to my room once the postcard was in hand.

  I walked over to the calendar, and circled the date. A tear rolled down my cheek. I swiped the tear with my finger, sat down on the side of my bed, took in a deep breath, and looked at the treasure I held in my hand. It should have been gold for how I held it. A picture postcard of the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. I turned it over to see Reid’s handwriting. With reverence I traced my fingertips over the indentations of the dark black ink…

  Baby bird,

  I took a tour of this place and thought of you. Great architecture. I hope you are doing

  well.

  Reid

  He remembered.

  I placed the card to my lips. “I am going to make you love me, Reid Addison.”

  I sealed my vow with a kiss to his signed name, and pinned the postcard on the empty corkboard that hung on the wall by my desk.

  Every week a new postcard arrived. Cards containing pictures of the French countryside, pictures of buildings and monuments, of native flowers, birds, and even a postcard with a nightscape of Paris. I sighed with a sense of longing, and memorized the words written on the back. They were always short and to the point, but I held on to the fact Reid was thinking of me. He hadn’t left me, not completely anyway.

  “Trinity.”

  I whirled around. “What?”

  “You have a letter—”

  “From Reid?”

  My mother grinned, but something about the expression held a hit of worry.

  “Yes. Trinity, is there more going on here than I know?”

  I took the envelope from my mother’s hand. Frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean between you and Reid.”

  I lifted my chin. Defiant. “Reid is in France. I am in California. What could possibly be going on, mother?”

  “Well, maybe you like him more than just a friend.” My mother hesitated for a moment. I guessed she was attempting to find the right words. “He does seem to be sending you a lot of mail.”

  “I’m not Reid’s type. I’m not any man’s type,” I snapped.

  I pulled my legs up to my chest, tucked my head down, and curled into a ball on my desk chair.

  “My love—”

  “Don’t say it, mother. Do not tell me I am beautiful, and someday the right man will see me for who I am and love me.”

  My mother sighed. She opened her mouth, as if to say something further then must have decided against it. There was a pregnant pause. “I’m going over to the main house. Call if you need me.”

  “Okay,” I replied.

  When my mother left, I studied the postmark on the envelope. This is different. Reid always sent postcards, never letters encased inside of envelopes. The back of the envelope was sealed
with a wax ring of dark deep purple. The letters JCR were embossed into the wax in fine scroll.

  Panic struck me. Who is JCR? But this letter came from France so it must be from Reid. I broke the wax seal, and pulled out a delicate handmade parchment. I studied the pressed wildflowers mixed into the fine grains of paper. Noticed it smelled of jasmine. This was feminine, not at all something Reid would have as writing paper.

  I opened the paper folds. Something tumbled out, brushed across my hand, and fell to the floor. I bent down, picked it up, and held it for a moment. It was a photograph of a timeless chateau, constructed of stone in muted colors of pale shell, coral, gray and blue hues. Part of the house was four stories tall with two round turrets flanking the ends. There were window boxes placed at each window on each of the turrets. It was extraordinarily beautiful. The chateau reminded me of a home tucked within the pages of one of the novels I liked to read.

  I turned the picture over to see something written in French…

  un rêve

  It looked like Reid’s handwriting. I placed the picture onto my corkboard then opened up the letter…

  Baby bird,

  In visiting all of these places, and buying the postcards, it got me to thinking… I can do that. So I bought a camera. This is my first picture. I hope you like it, and I hope you are doing well.

  Reid

  I looked at the parchment. Glared at the broken wax seal on the back of the envelope. Glanced back at the picture of the chateau. I pressed the flower embossed paper to my nose and inhaled the scent of jasmine once more. A woman. I knew it. Reid was with a woman, and more than likely the picture he sent was where he was staying. I looked at the postmark again, pulled up the information on the Internet, and confirmed my suspicions. The postmark was from a small town located in the French countryside. Only a few hours from Paris.

  “Mom!” I yelled out, bounding in the door to the main house.

  “Trinity?” My mother came out of the library. “What’s wrong, love?”

  “Mom, I know this is going to cost a lot of money. I’m not sure how I am going to pay for it, but I want to have laser surgery and get rid of these glasses once and for all.” I stood with my feet planted firm, chin held up high, looking at my mother with a resolve.

  I thought I stunned my mother. She stared at me. Speechless.

  “I’ve saved all of my birthday money, and the graduation money my aunts and grandma Nan have sent. I also saved the money you gave me for helping you around here. I have about nine hundred and three dollars. Lasik surgery would cost about twenty-five hundred for me, I’ve researched it,” I said. My mother stood mute and unblinking. “So I need fifteen hundred give or take a hundred.”

  I heard, “I will cover the cost.”

  I flipped around, shocked to see Mrs. Addison donning a jogging suit, all be it a designer one, and decided I’d never seen Reid’s mother in anything other than a power suit before.

  “We cannot do that,” my mother said, turning her stunned expression from me to Mrs. Addison.

  “Francis,” Mrs. Addison said in a velvety soft voice. “You are part of our family. I know how hard things have been. This lawsuit with your husband’s life insurance company has been dragging out for years. I wish you would allow me take over the litigation, let me help you and your family more.”

  “You have helped us more than you know.”

  “Please, Francis. Let me do this for Trinity. And please reconsider my offer to take over the litigation on your behalf.”

  My mother looked at me. And for the first time in years I wasn’t glancing down or studying the lines in the floor.

  “Trinity, love, do you really want to have this procedure done?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you can handle going to the surgery center? It will mean we will have to go into the city.”

  I took in a large breath, held it then exhaled. “Yes.”

  My mother looked at Mrs. Addison. They both smiled at each other in unison. “All right,” My mother said. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “Thank you for accepting my offer,” Mrs. Addison replied.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Addison,” I added. “I’ll give you the money I have, and I can do something to pay you back the difference.”

  “You are more than welcome, Trinity. But I want you to keep your money. I will cover the total cost.”

  “I will pay you back, somehow.”

  Mrs. Addison smiled. “There is no need to pay me back. It is a gift. But if you would like to earn some money, I am working on an important case. My paralegal is out on maternity leave, and I have stacks of phone records to go through. I could use the help going through them. You can work here, in my study.”

  “Really, you would like me to work for you?”

  Mrs. Addison nodded her head. “I would, yes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Addison said. “We will start in a few days. Can you meet me in my study on Friday afternoon … let’s say one?”

  It wasn’t as if I needed to check my schedule of events.

  “Sure, Mrs. Addison.”

  “Please, call me Gwyneth.”

  Until this moment I’d secluded myself from the world, just stopped living. After the attacks on the TwinTowers, and losing my father, I was never the same. But, who was the same after such a senseless tragedy? My mother Francis and my older sister Bentley all suffered, changed, yet I knew both of them hoped in time, with understanding and help, I would be alright.

  When the doctors diagnosed me with agoraphobia, my mother didn’t accept it, but over time I suppose she had no choice. She watched me slowly retreat from the world. Night after night, I would wake, screaming in fear, mumbling almost incoherently about nightmares. The psychologists and psychiatric doctors said it was post-traumatic stress. Then as I grew older, my fear seemed to morph into nyctophobia or fear of the dark. Then xenophobia, fear of things or strangers, not to mention severe panic or anxiety attacks. My mother and my sister learned to accept this Trinity because the fearless little girl they knew never completely emerged from the ashes. Someone else came out of the rubble in my place.

  On Friday afternoon I went to the main house to meet Mrs. Addison. A large pile of telephone files sat, waiting for me.

  “Trinity,” Mrs. Addison greeted. I perused the stack of files. “I know it looks overwhelming, but keep in mind I’m looking for one phone number, not a bunch of random information, so our search is narrowed.”

  I took a seat at the table. Pulled up a file box. “Okay.”

  “I want you to highlight this phone number,” Mrs. Addison said. She handed me a yellow highlighter and a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. “Every time you find this phone number I want you to mark it, highlighting the time and the date of the call.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I have another meeting in the city. Will you be okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Remember to stop and take a break every so often. And don’t feel like have to get through all of the files today.”

  “Okay.”

  “And thank you for your help, Trinity. I do appreciate it.”

  “Mrs. Addison—”

  “Please, call me Gwyneth.”

  I had a hard time calling Reid’s mother Gwyneth. Nonetheless I took in a large breath then exhaled.

  “Gwyneth,” I said. “I should be the one thanking you.”

  ****

  Monday. It was the beginning of the week. Reid would be sending a postcard or a picture so I wanted to be the one to intercept the mail. I showered quickly, pulled my hair back off my face, restraining the wild curls into a clip, put on one T-shirt instead of my standard two, and headed out the door of my house. My focus remained on the long drive in front of the estate.

  “Trinity, love, where are you going?” my mother called out.

  “I’m going to get the mail.”

  I made it past the halfway point when
my hands started to shake. The edges of my vision began to shimmer with that distinctive onslaught of panic closing in. My mouth went dry like I had eaten cotton. My breath increased along with the rapid secession of my heartbeat. The palms of my hands broke out into a clammy sweat. I was forced to stop. I closed my eyes, trying to gain my breath.

  I pictured Reid standing at the end of the drive. I visualized his face, his smiling face. I saw him call out to me, hand extended, waiting. Using that visual as motivation, I placed one shaky leg out then allowed my foot to hit the ground. I placed my next leg out and found to my surprise I moved three more steps. I froze again when the massive iron gate, the street, and the large rock post that held the mail box came into view. I closed my eyes. If I wanted Reid I was going to have to do better than this. You want Reid, so stop being such a scaredy cat. I placed one foot in front of the other, walking a wobbly line.

  My hands were shaking like a leaf as they came out in front of me. I grabbed hold of the rock post. Held on as my body swayed. I wondered if I were on a ship and needed to gain my sea legs. I took in a breath then steadied before punching the security code into the pad. I knew this would unlock the gate, but the buzz startled me for a moment. As the gate rolled back it gave me access to the outside world. I felt a lump in my throat. I’d made it to the end of the driveway. The street was within my view. I flipped open the mailbox door, pulled the mail out, a dozen or so envelopes and a small brown box, then shut the door. I’d actually done it. I lifted my chin upward to feel the sun on my face.

  I turned, hit the security pad, and closed the gate. Someone honked a car horn. I jumped, let out a piercing screech of a scream, and ran full speed up the driveway as if the devil himself was on my tail. I was out of breath, clutching to the mail, but I had done it. No matter if I was screaming like a crazy person as I ran back up the drive. No matter if I was sweating like a pig or shaking like a leaf, I had done it. No one could take my accomplishment away.

  I stopped running when I saw my mother. She hugged me. When the rigidity kicked in and I squirmed, trying to breathe, she let go.

  “I’m going to the main house,” she announced, allowing me the victory without the need for fancy words, which only seemed to tangle me up more.