Caliboy1991

The Road Less Traveled – Chapter 11
By
Caliboy1991

Something soft grazed my thigh as sleep fled from me. Gabe’s fingers traced across my legs, sliding around to my inner thigh. I wondered what he would do if allowed to continue, so I kept my eyes closed and enjoyed the gentle touch.

His fingers sent tendrils of little jolts of pleasure through me, and he worked them up my leg until his touch grazed my panties. It was only the briefest of moments, but I loved what he was doing to me. His hand moved over my panties until his fingers caressed my lower abs. The thing about my panties, they were low cut and the top of my pubic mound was just above the waistband. I burned with desire to know his fingers were on at least part of my pubic mound. Gradually, his fingers played with my skin, working upward.

I wore a loose-fitting cami that didn’t quite cover my navel. When his fingers reached it, they slid under the hem, gradually pushing it up, inch by agonizingly slow inch. God alone knows how I managed to avoid flinching when a finger grazed one of my modest swells. Keeping my breathing regular as his fingers crept forward was the hardest thing to do. When he reached my nipple, he cupped his hand and covered my breast, gently squeezing. My erect nipple poked against his palm. After squeezing it for a bit, he retreated down my stomach, leaving my breasts exposed, my cami pushed over them. His fingers didn’t stop until he reached my panties’ thin lacy band. He caressed the skin above it. Oh, how I wanted to just pull my panties and let him gawp at my shaven pussy. To tell him that it was his to do with as he pleased.

More tentatively than before, Gabe slid a finger under the lacy band. It was just to his first knuckle. I was wet between my legs. If he went much further down, he’d wonder why the front of my panties were wet. Of course, by now he’d read enough of my bodice rippers to know women get wet between their legs, so maybe it wouldn’t be quite the surprise.

A second finger slid under the lacy elastic, then a third. He paused when he was halfway toward my slit. Was he trying to figure out where my pubic hair was? Good luck with that. Maybe it was a change in my breath, maybe he just lost his nerve, but he pulled his hand back and rested it on my belly as he snuggled against me.

That intimacy didn’t last. A few minutes later, he rolled out of bed and padded across the smooth tile to the toilet. When he opened the door, I was sitting up in bed, my cami pushed back into place. I smiled, “How’d you sleep?”

He seemed unaware of the lump in his underwear, “Okay. Thanks for letting me sleep in here. I tried to sleep on the sofa, but couldn’t.”

I moved across the bed and took his hand, “Oh, baby, I know that feeling. During the night, I woke up and felt you lying next to me and was really glad you did.”

A touch of crimson on his cheeks made me wonder if he felt guilty about touching me while thinking I was a sleep. I added, “I sleep so much better when you’re next to me. You wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you decided you wanted to stay in here with me full time.”

“L-like as your boyfriend?”

I shrugged, “If you’d like. But even if you want to be friends, or even if we’re only aunt and nephew. I just like sleeping next to you.”

He surprised me with a smile, “Me too.”

***

Gabe bounded up the stairs and handed me a bag with the golden arches’ logo on it. I waited for him to settle into the passenger seat by the door before asking, “Where to now?”

He looked out the windshield. The day was nearly cloudless; a great day to move on down the road. “I like the weather here. I was reading how some people who live in their RV stay in the mountains in the summer and then go to places like Florida and Texas in the winter. Could we do something like that?”

I was about as nomadic as it came. Since buying the old Winnebago at twenty, I never looked back, traveling wherever the muse took me. “We can, if you want.”

He smiled as he dug an Egg McMuffin from his bag, “Cool. Let’s find a place in the mountains to stay for a while. That’ll be fun.”

I pulled up a map on my phone and zoomed into the central part of the state, “You want a RV park similar to where we stayed last night?”

Gabe pursed his lips, “Dunno. I want you to teach me how to be a better writer. Plus, I really don’t want to be around lots of people.”

Colorado is the Mecca of boondocked camping. I’d only done it once before. The problem with boondocking is that you only have what the RV can carry. You’re dependent on your holding tanks for water and sewer, and your generator and diesel fuel for electricity. The benefit is that with few exceptions, you could park anywhere you want in a national park to camp. Sure, there are rules to follow, but it lets you stay at places you’d never get to stay normally.

“Your wish is my command, Gabe,” I said as I zoomed in. “What about the Rio Grande National Forest?”

He tore into a bite of his biscuit and nodded.

Durango was the largest town in the southwestern corner of the state. There were a handful of smaller towns and wide spots on the highway with pretensions of being a village between us and the national forest, so we stopped at the local Albertsons and picked up groceries enough for a couple of weeks. The nearest grocery store to our destination was in Creede.

A forty-five-foot diesel motorcoach has its moments of fun on the open road. My favorite is when I’m on the interstate with a long stretch of straight road ahead of me and no cars around. The road to the national forest was not like that at all. The first bit of “fun” was going over Wolf Creek Pass. The road over the pass twisted and turned. The best thing I could say was the road was two lanes in both directions, so when sporty little cars zipped past, I could stay in the right lane, my white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

Once we crested the top of the pass, my voice was strained, “Look at the sign, Gabe. We’re crossing the continental divide.”

The entire time we’d been climbing, the boy ignored the manuscript in his lap and turned and gawked at the mountains all around. He grabbed my phone from the console between us and snapped a picture before we passed the sign. “Wow, Syd, look it, we’re at ten-thousand-eight-hundred-and-fifty-seven feet.”

The wonder on Gabe’s face made the experience worth it. As we started down the eastern side of the pass, I downshifted into first and kept my foot on the brake. More than an hour after we started up the steep slope on the western side of the pass, we were finally off the eastern slope. The rest of the drive, through plenty more twists and turns, was child’s play compared to Wolf Creek Pass.

We rolled into a small, unimproved camp ground about thirty minutes after passing through Creede. There was an RV spot for a camp guide, but it was empty. There were a dozen or so pull-through sites for RVs like ours and signs posted that no dumping was allowed, although each site came with its own spigot. At least we wouldn’t have to use our water tank.

While I hit the button to roll out the slides, Gabe connected the water, and we were officially home; at least for the next two weeks. I’d read that the National Forestry Service only allows campers to stay in one spot for two weeks. The seclusion was exactly what we needed. Gabe would have the time to figure things out about us and I could figure out how if Give the Devil His Due was to be my next series. I took a nap on the sofa while Gabe explored the nearby area.

After a dinner of hotdogs, I sat on the sofa with the windows open, the clear mountain air cooled off fast once the sun was hidden by the mountains to our west. I split my attention between a TV show and emails with my virtual assistant about current marketing campaigns. Gabe lay next to me on the sofa. He propped his legs on the armrest and lay his head against my hip. Every couple of minutes, he flipped a page, reading my manuscript. There weren’t many pages left, and he was too preoccupied with the story to realize he kept reaching down to adjust his shorts. Seeing the bulge in his shorts was confirmation that at least some parts of the story were doing what they were supposed to. I wanted middle-aged women wearing down the batteries on their vibrators after reading my story.

I had closed the windows and lowered the blinds by the time Gabe closed the manuscript and said, “That was, um, fucking hot.”

The profanity made him blush. Unlike Abby, I thought Gabe sounded cute when he swore. I grinned and muted the TV, “So, should I self-publish it?”

The blush spread to his ears and neck, “Mom would have loved it, I think.”

The admission caught me off guard. Sure, I’d give Abby copies of all my books, and knew they were one of her few guilty pleasures. “You knew she had my books?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She kept them hidden in her room. I found them hidden in her room last Christmas when I was hunting for my presents.”

I smirked, “Did you find the presents?”

He gave me an embarrassed grin and shook his head. “And no, I was too scared to read your books. Mom would have beat my ass if she’d caught me.”

I reached down and rubbed his chest, “Now you’re catching up on lost time.”

He grinned and nodded. “I’m not reading it because of the sexy scenes. I’m trying to see how you write.”

I chuckled at the transparent lie, “Um-hmm. Right. I bet every woman has heard her man use that excuse.” I lowered my voice, trying to mimic a man, “No, honey, I wasn’t reading the magazine with the nude pics for the naked women, I was reading it for the articles.”

I’m not sure if the reference went over his head. Gabe just shrugged, “Whatever. I think you should publish this book. If my mom would’ve liked it, I bet lots of other women would too.”

My curiosity piqued, I asked, “What did you think of Lucien? Too much the billionaire bad boy?”

He shook his head, “No. I mean, he does some pretty bad stuff to Holly and the other girls. Dunno, it’s weird, when I read the story from Lucien’s point of view, he didn’t seem like a villain. But when you switched over to Holly, she’s trying to figure out who she is and what she wants. I understand her and I think other people will to.”

He was only twelve, and he understood the story better than my agent. “What’d you think of the end?”

“You ended it on a cliff-hanger. When I finished it, all I wanted to do was pick up the next book. Have you written anything else?”

I sighed as my hand kept rubbing his chest, “Not yet. It was supposed to be my first traditionally published work.”

“What’s the difference?”

I explained, “What I’ve done is self-publishing. I write the book, find an editor to fix my typos, keep an eye out for continuity, and clean it up. I also have to hire an artist to design the book and someone else to manage my marketing campaign. A traditional book publisher does everything but the writing. Well, they used to. These days, authors are expected to do more and more marketing themselves, even if they have a traditional contract.”

Gabe cocked an eyebrow in surprise, “Why would you want a book contract? You’re really successful already.”

“I’m glad you think so. But Amazon is my only outlet. A traditional publishing contract would let me get my books into bookstores, even onto other online bookstores, like Barns and Nobles. Also, it’s an ego thing. Getting a traditional book contract is a tremendous deal. It means the publishing gatekeepers think you’re good enough to support.”

Gabe sat up and leaned against me, resting his head on my shoulder, “But Amazon is huge, right?”

I dipped my head in agreement, “That’s true. In the US, Amazon is almost ninety percent of the e-book market. And if my books are traditionally published, I’d probably not get them enrolled in Kindle Unlimited.”

That was enough confirmation. The manuscript still required at least one final review before sending it off to my editor, but fuck it, I was sold. If a twelve-year-old boy could finish it and enjoy it, what little doubt I still had evaporated. I snaked an arm around him and pulled Gabe closer, “Thanks, sweetie. I’ll get started outlining the rest of the series tomorrow. What about you? You ready to start writing?”

He nestled himself closer and nodded, “Yeah. I want to finish my story about the boy who kills the dragon and rescues the princess.”

I gave him some pointers, sharing with him some of the things I learned along my journey as a writer. Eventually I yawned. A glance at my watch showed it wasn’t even ten in the evening yet. But the stress of the morning’s drive caught up with me; I could barely keep my eyes open. I leaned over to Gabe and brushed my lips against his cheek, “I’m off to bed. The offer still stands, sweetie. You don’t have to sleep in here if you don’t want.”

He flushed at my kiss. But he didn’t respond with one of his own. Neither did he pull away. I wished I understood what Gabe was going through. Frankly, I was confused, especially after waking up to his exploring fingers that morning. If that’s what he was comfortable with, then I’d have to accept it. That thought was on my mind as I stripped down to my panties. Only the uncertainty of how Gabe would think if he came in and I was in just my panties, kept me from sleeping that way. I found an old cotton cami in the bottom of my underwear drawer. I hadn’t worn it since cutting away the bottom half a few years ago. I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror and decided it was just about right. The jagged edges at the bottom ended an inch or two below where my breasts started.

I settled into bed, hoping Gabe wouldn’t leave me alone, but I fell asleep, dreaming of him taking me by force.

Copyright 2022 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

The Road Less Traveled – Chapter 10
By
Caliboy1991

“How’s it feel being twelve,” I asked as Gabe and I walked from the Durango LaPlata County airfield to the parking lot where the RV was parked.

“About the same as yesterday when I was eleven,” Gabe said, carrying our travel bag over his shoulder.

I twirled the RV key fob on my finger, “There are plenty of restaurants in Durango. Let’s celebrate.”

We reached the RV, and the door swung open with the press of a button on the fob. Gabe stopped on the first step, “I guess we can go out to eat. But, Syd, I don’t feel like celebrating. Not yet.”

I watched him climb the other steps and followed. I had the Cummins diesel running a moment later, cooling the RV’s cockpit. “There’s an old timey train that runs from here to Silverton. Maybe when you’re ready, we can come back and celebrate by riding the train. It’s supposed to be a lot of fun.”

Gabe gave me a wan smile, “That’d be fun. Maybe soon.”

Because it was his birthday, we picked up to-go from McDonalds and drove to a nearby RV park for the night. Despite his melancholy, Gabe helped connect the water and sewer lines while I put the slide-outs out. Thank God for microwaves, otherwise we’d have eaten cold Micky Ds.

I settled into the bench across from Gabe, who was drowning a french fry in ketchup. “How’s it taste?”

He held the mangled strip of fried potato up, “Dunno. I’ll tell you in a sec.”

With that, he plopped it in his mouth. I unwrapped my burger and took a bite. Somewhere in between bites, I said, “I can’t really put myself in your shoes, Gabe, to know how you’re feeling. But I’m here for you when you want to talk.”

He shrugged, “You know the score. I’ll get over it.”

Gabe fell silent for a bit; Even though I was still learning some of his mannerisms, I could see he was working through a lot of things. “Syd, are there any other relatives of you and mom?”

I never knew my dad. He was splitsville before I was born. When I was growing up, Abby didn’t talk about him much, and Mom, not at all. Mom was an only child. I shook my head, “Not that I know of. It’s just you and me.”

He crumped up his fry box and shoved it in the bag, “I knew a kid in school. His parents died. They put him in foster care. How do you know that won’t happen to me?”

I hadn’t given that much thought. I had power-of-attorney over him, and Abby named me guardian in her will. I took the bag of trash and slid from the bench seat and threw our trash into a trash bag under the sink. “They had a chance when we were in Bakersfield. I’d think that someone would have to report you to social services.”

“What about school?”

I sat on the sofa, and patted the spot next to me, “I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve done a bit of research about online schools. There are some private schools into which we could enroll you in the fall; everything is done online. Your school will get the request for records and they’ll figure out your where you’re supposed to be, send the records to the new school, and you will start the seventh grade in a couple of months from the comfort of the RV.”

He collapsed on the seat next to me, “You promise you won’t abandon me?”

The vehemence in his voice caught me by surprise, “Fuck yeah. You’re more than just my nephew, Gabe. You’re my best friend in the whole fucking world. I’ll fight like hell to keep you with me.”

Then I smirked and gave him a snide smile, “Plus, they’d have to find us and we can go anywhere we want. Our house is on wheels.”

It felt good to hear him laugh. He offered a grin, “So, you weren’t just being silly last week, about being friends?”

I snaked an arm around his shoulders, “No way. If you haven’t figured out, as aunts go, I’m fucked up. If you need a lot of parenting, we’re both going to be in deep shit. But I can be the best friend in the world. Probably be a huge fucking bad influence on you. Let you read all my smutty stories, be the woman you need me to be for you, let you fool around with me, that kind of friend and so much more.”

He rested his head against my shoulder, “No matter what, you’ll let me stay until I finish high school?”

I squeezed his shoulders into a hug, “Absolutely. But even then, this will always be home for you. Got it?”

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, “Yeah. So, you’re really gonna make me go to school in the fall?”

“Yep. You need to learn more about writing, math, history, all that stuff.”

He gave me a skeptical eye, “Really? Like I’m going to have to know algebra to be a writer?”

I laughed, “You’d be surprised by the things I’ve learned that I’ve worked into my stories, Gabe.”

He gave a mock huff, “Fine. That means we’ve got two months for you to teach me more writing and for me to finish my book. What about you? You decide what you’re going to write next?”

That was something else weighing on me. The only thing I had ready to go was Give the Devil His Due. But if Bess was right, releasing it under my pen name could blow up. Given what Gabe and I had already shared, there wasn’t any point in not telling him about it, “I have a book that makes most of my books feel like sweet romance for high schoolers. It’s called Give the Devil His Due.”

Gabe perked up at the name, “Cool name. What’s it about?”

I smirked, “Sex, power, and more sex.”

He returned the smirk, “I thought you said it was different.”

Jokingly, I smacked his arm, “Smart ass. It’s about a billionaire-“

Gabe poked me with his elbow, “You said it was going to be different? I’m waiting.”

I gave a theatrical sigh, “Fine, I’ll let you read it. But don’t let me find you in the bathroom rubbing one out to it.”

His eyes grew wide. Three weeks ago, he didn’t even know how to masturbate. Now, at least, he understood. “I wouldn’t do…”

His voice faded as his cheeks turned red. He had retreated since the morning we learned of Abby’s death. I longed to pick things up where we left off. But so far, he’d shown no interest, and I was beginning to wonder if he regretted our brief time together. I pushed that aside and leaned over and kissed his cheek before getting to my feet, “I’ll fetch it. You can read it if you want. I need to catch up on some work.”

***

Amazon pays me commissions every month. About half the money comes from e-book sales. The other half comes from page-reads from Kindle Unlimited. Thrown in the mix are some paperback sales. But those never amounted to more than a couple of hundred copies a month. The money hits my business account around the end of the month. I pay an accountant to do my books, pay my estimated taxes, and the like. But that doesn’t mean I get to ignore it. While Gabe sat quietly on the couch, flipping the pages of the manuscript every few minutes, I reviewed this month’s sales report. Even though we were at the tail-end of June, the data was from April sales.

At first glance, the numbers were impressive. Between e-books and Kindle Unlimited, my fifty-four books, at that time, sold just under eleven thousand copies. And that translated to around twenty-six thousand dollars. Not bad for a twenty-four-year-old, you’d think.

I found March’s report and opened the spreadsheet. Fifty-three books on the sold report that month. And a bit more than twelve thousand books. That was my problem. Over the past year, even though I’ve released ten books over the past twelve months, my sales were going south.

Too much competition diluted the market. There were content mills churning out a book a week, paying ghost writers to churn out fifty-, sixty-thousand-word romance novels. They were formulaic, write-by-the-numbers fluff pieces. And my target audience voraciously read them. But more titles were chasing the same number of readers and with Gabe living with me, I wasn’t sure I could maintain my publishing schedule of ten books a year.

Thinking of the boy, I glanced over at him. He lay on the couch with the manuscript propped on his chest, his head inclined, reading. Absentmindedly, he reached down and adjusted himself. The board shorts were ugly things, and despite the way they bunched up at his crotch, I could see by the tent in his shorts, he enjoyed the story. The sight of the distended material was a pleasurable distraction. I didn’t know if he’d ever want to pick up where things left off the previous week. But at least I could enjoy a furtive glance now and then at his budding sexuality.

Hoping he hadn’t seen me, I cut my eyes away. I closed down the sales reports and opened up the most recent account statement from my accountant. The first page was a standard balance sheet. On one side, it showed the debits. On the other, the credits. Despite the fall-off in sales, the credits outweighed the debits by a wide margin. The biggest expenses were marketing campaigns. Just below that line item was another sizable expense. My virtual assistant ran my marketing campaigns. And she didn’t come cheap, at twenty-five dollars an hour. The RV was even on there as an expense. I owned the motorcoach outright, paying cash for it over a year ago, when I traded up from a used Winnebago. Even so, there are plenty of expenses. The diesel engine was a gas guzzler, netting me six or seven miles to the gallon. It had to be serviced regularly to keep it in tip-top shape and those service calls weren’t cheap.

Before long, the shadows were getting longer. The clock in the laptop’s task bar showed most of the day was gone. I closed the laptop. Gabe turned another page as I said, “You haven’t said much.”

His cheeks flushed, “It’s really great, Syd. I don’t know why your agent said it wasn’t.”

I felt my own face grow warm as I thought about the many sexually explicit scenes in the book, “She didn’t say it wasn’t good, just that it was too controversial.”

An embarrassed smile creased Gabe’s face, “Oh. Um, yeah. Th-, they were good. Why not publish it yourself?”

I bit my lower lip, thinking of all the bad things that could happen if I were to ignore Bess. “You can tell a difference between this one and the others?”

The same flush–Gabe nodded, “Yeah, the, um, sex is hotter. And the girls are younger. The main girl the billionaire likes, he kidnaps her and, um, talks her into doing stuff and she’s only a few years older than me.”

“Yeah,” I said, “My agent thinks it’s too much like a story that just broke a few weeks ago about a guy named Jeffrey Epstein. And, yeah, I was kind of thinking about him when I created this billionaire, just figured he was above the law with too many powerful friends to protect him.”

Gabe shrugged, “Whatever. I think it’s fun. You’re always going on about books need to be in a series to be successful. I’m not finished yet, but it seems like the billionaire is going to win by the end of the book.”

My mind went through dozen different scenarios for a series. “No spoilers, young man.”

Gabe stuck his tongue at me. I grinned and flipped him off, making him laugh. “You’re a mean girlfr–” his voice caught in his throat before he looked down at the pages, and continued, “friend. I’ll read to the end.”

My stomach grumbled. I didn’t feel like fixing anything and the RV park was close enough to town, I figured we could get pizza delivered. When he heard me on the phone, Gabe’s voice reverberated through the RV, “No veggies! We’re not herbivores.”

When the pizza guy, who happened to be a pizza gal, showed up, Gabe finally closed the manuscript and grabbed some paper plates from the kitchen cabinets. As we ate, he said, “I really like Holly.”

Holly is the focal point of Give the Devil His Due. She’s the kind of high school girl I wished I’d been when I was fifteen or sixteen. Gabe added, “She reminds me of you.”

I shook my head as I wiped a stray string of cheese from my mouth, “How’s that?”

The crimson returned, and he focused on devouring the rest of his first slice. When he reached for a second, I swatted his hand, “Come on, Gabe. How does she remind you of me?”

He glanced down at the pizza box, “Well, um, she’s really pretty and outgoing, like you.”

I wasn’t sure I saw the connection, but it wasn’t lost on me how Gabe saw me. I wondered if that was all, “Thanks, Gabe. I think. Anything else about her?”

Gabe’s ears and neck grew red when he became really embarrassed; like now. “Um, her boobs, they reminded me of yours.”

My eyebrows were arched, my eyes round, “Really?”

His voice was almost too low. “Y-, yeah. You described her boobs as perky and, um, petite.”

Damned if he wasn’t right. Without realizing I’d done it, Holly was me physically. “You think I’m pretty?”

More of that gorgeous flush. He wouldn’t look at me as he nodded, “Duh.”

“Boys,” I muttered.

The day had been long. And even though it wasn’t my normal bedtime, I said, “I’m going to bed. You going to be okay?”

He nodded, returning his gaze to me, “Yeah, Syd. I’m going to read your book for a bit longer.”

I gave him a big grin, “Enjoy. But no beating off in the bathroom to my smut. Got it?”

He giggled; the crimson reached his collarbone, “Got it.”

The past few nights had been rough on us. Gabe’s mood about his mom had been worse when it had been just the two of us in the hotel room. I said, “Don’t feel like you have to sleep up here, sweetie. There’s plenty of room in my bed.”

He grabbed the manuscript from next to where he sat on the couch, and fiddled with the pages for a moment, “If I do, um, you won’t want me to pretend to be one of the billionaires in your stories, will you?”

Funny how he conceptualized our sex play. I desired him. Even while we’d been eating pizza, at least on a subconscious level, some part of me still wanted him to dominate me, to take me and make me his. But his desires mattered as much as mine, maybe even more; after all, he was the minor and I, the adult, who should know better. “No, sweetie. If you’re feeling anything like me, you might not like sleeping alone right now. About the billionaire stuff, we don’t have to do that again if you don’t want.”

He cracked open the manuscript as his lips curled at the corners, “It’s not like that. It’s just Mom’s death still has me out of sorts. I gotta lot to work out, ‘kay?”

Never have I wanted to hug and hold him more than that moment. But I used what little self-control I possessed and turned and retired to the bedroom.

Copyright 2022 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

The Road Less Traveled – Chapter 9
By
Caliboy1991

I pulled the key from the envelope. Looking back on that last fateful day, I spoke with her, she knew what was coming. Knew, or at least suspected Gabe and I would want to go into the house. With his hands stuck deep in the pockets of his jeans, he slouched beside me. It wasn’t that he was silent. He was dealing with some deep anger at Abby for hiding her illness and depriving him of the right to be with her at the end.

I was torn by it. I remember how worn and, at the end, resentful Abby had become by the time our mom died. I didn’t have it in me to condemn her decision to not put Gabe through that hell. If anything, the past couple of weeks had been some of the best in the boy’s life. And while I had serious doubts Abby would approve of everything to which I introduced Gabe, he needed to grow up and spread his wings. And even as I slid the key into the lock, I remained convinced Abby had chosen me, even though she knew Gabe’s life would spin away from my sister’s sheltered world.

I pushed the door open and found the light-switch on the wall. The living room was empty. The walls were bare, the furniture gone. Even the vinyl floorboards were spotless. Except for one corner of the room. Over there were a dozen boxes of various sizes and shapes.

Gabe pushed past me and stared about him, “Where is everything? It’s all gone, Syd!”

I was as taken aback at him as I crossed the threshold. As Gabe darted toward the hall to his bedroom, he muttered, “We’ve been fucking robbed!”

I moved past the boxes and passed through the small dining room. The plain table with wobbly chairs was gone. Even the kitchen was pristine. Thanks to the poor decisions our mom made when we were growing up, there weren’t very many family heirlooms or favorite porcelain plates to pass down. Abby hadn’t been able to add much to that very meager collection from a teacher’s aide’s salary. She had decorated her home from Walmart and Sears, with the occasional item from Goodwill thrown in to the mix.

Twenty-nine years on this earth and the sum total of everything she had was in a dozen boxes. When I returned to the living room, I noticed a manilla folder. Someone had written in cursive, “Gabriel Nelson” across the middle. Gabe burst into the living room, tears scalding his cheeks, “It’s all gone. Everything.”

He spun and ran through the dining room and into the kitchen, “They took everything! Even her angels!”

When I reached the kitchen, Gabe’s eyes were round, wild with distraught. I spread my arms, and he ran to me, nearly barreling me over as fresh tears fell shamelessly onto the shoulder of my blouse. I patted him on the back as, through broken sobs, he continued, “Mom had the most beautiful collection of angels. She kept them on the mantle in the living room. They’re gone too!”

I glanced through the doors. I could see the mantle against the outside wall. Seventy or eighty years ago, when the house was first built, it had included a fireplace. But somewhere between then and now, someone had bricked it up until the only reminder was the painted-over mantle. I hadn’t thought about them at the time, but I recalled a small collection of angels from when I picked Gabe up. They were carved angels you might find at Hobby Lobby or other craft stores.

I ran my hand through his hair as he cried. When he finally stopped, he confessed, “Me and Grandma went to her hobby store and picked them out for Mom each Christmas.”

I had no idea. No wonder Gabe was so distraught. I pulled him back into the living room and pointed to the envelope on the top box, “There’s a letter on top of the boxes. It’s addressed to you.”

He glanced at his name before wiping tears from his face, “Can you read it, Syd?”

I opened the envelope. A lone sheet of paper was its only occupant. “You want me to read it aloud?”

He nodded, resting his head on my shoulder. I pulled it out and read, “Dear Gabriel, your mom asked a few of us from school to help her clean up the house after she went into hospice care. She has been so supportive of other teachers over the years we couldn’t possibly have refused. We know you’ll be living with your aunt, so we boxed up everything from your room that we could and have set it in the front room. One of the boxes, labeled ‘Gabriel’s keepsakes,’ are things your mom wanted to give to you. If there’s anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

There was a lump in my throat that I had to clear before I could add, “There are several names of her fellow teachers. Even phone numbers.”

He released his hold and found the marked box and sat on the hardwood floor and opened it. Wrapped in bits of newspaper were the angels. When he got up, the tears were still there, but a smile played at his lips, “I thought I had lost them, Syd. But they’re still here.”

Gabe experienced something profound as he gently put the angel back in the box and closed it. While he was occupied with the box, the doorbell rang and a moment later the door cracked open, “Anyone here?” a voice called out, “I’m the landlord.”

A plump man stood in the doorway. Gabe and I were taller than him. He peered into the room, which was lit only by light filtering through the windows. “Ms. Nelson?”

Gabe was on his feet, interposing himself between me and Mr. Roly-Poly. For an instant, I thought of him as my bad-boy billionaire, and I alone was his conquest. The moment passed, and I rested my hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Yes?”

He eyed Gabe for a moment before nodding, “Sorry about your momma. I ain’t had a tenant stay longer than her. She was one of the good ones.”

Gabe relaxed a beat. “Thanks.”

The landlord scanned the room, “She was good at her word, when she told me about her illness. This is cleaner than the day I leased it to her.”

I marveled at how my older sister, facing her own mortality, wrapped everything up. Even now, I don’t know if I could do it half as well. I slid my arm down Gabe’s shoulder until I rested it on his upper arm, “We’re here for Abby’s funeral. Maybe take a few days to confirm everything is in order. We’ll get the boxes out before we leave.”

“Take your time. The house is still hers through the end of the month.” Roly-Poly reached for the door and paused. After a long moment, he reached into his back pocket and added, “I was going to inspect the house before deciding what to do about the deposit. But Abby was a woman of her word.”

He crossed the room and handed an envelope to Gabe, “When your mom first rented from me, she paid a deposit. She kept up her end of the lease better than most. It’s only right I do the same. Here’s your momma’s deposit back.”

With that, he turned and left.

Gabe opened the envelope. There was a small stack of bills with Ben Franklin’s face on them. I lived in a cashless world. Everything I earned was electronically deposited into my account. Every purchase I made was just as electronic. In Abby’s world, with small rental houses and postage stamp sized yards, cash was king.

I squeezed Gabe’s arm, “You ready to go? We should get checked into the hotel before the vigil. We can come back later and get the rest of your things.”

Gabe bent over and grabbed the box of angels, “This is all I really want. I don’t want the rest; it’s just stuff I’ve outgrown.”

***

Even though I’ve always resented my mom her choices, I couldn’t find it within me to resent seeing Abby laid to rest beside her. The writer in me found closure in it. And in a moment of reflection, maybe my problem with my mom was mostly about growing up poor than anything else. That first novel was like bottling lightning, and I never looked back.

Despite the working poverty Abby lived, one thing she had over Mom was a stable of good friends. People who know Abby kept coming up to us, bombarding Gabe and me, and telling us how much Abby meant to them. They were mostly teachers and teacher assistants at the school where she worked.

The tent over Abby’s grave was big enough to hold a couple of dozen chairs. While we had reserved seats at the front, some of my sister’s coworkers couldn’t find space under the temporary enclosure and had to stand under the warm early summer sun.

While we waited for Father Sandoval to prepare the area between the seating and the casket, a woman of indeterminant years approached. She gave us a weak smile, as though anything other than a somber expression was against the rules, “Ms. Nelson?”

I nodded toward her as Gabe fidgeted next to me. “Yes?”

She offered me her hand, “We’re all very sorry about Abby, and I felt called to come over and tell you how much we appreciated your sister. She was one-in-a-million.”

I wondered how many people get to hear this kind of praise during their lives. Or is it the salve that people who yet remain salve their consciousnesses for saying too little before it’s too late. I shook her hand, “My sister had a heart of gold, Ms.…?”

“Fuentes. I’m the PE teacher. Your sister liked bragging about her kid sister, the writer.”

I shrugged. “It pays the bills.”

She gave me an appraising look, “She said you did better than that. When I asked what you wrote, she was evasive.”

That was Abby. Proud of my success, but more than just a little embarrassed I made my living from soft-core smut for middle-aged women, like Mrs. Fuentes. “Lots of women enjoy a good romance novel.”

Her eyes perked up, despite the setting, “Really? I like sweet romances.” She listed off a few authors who played it safe with sweet romance.

I don’t know why, but I felt like she was being nosy. For fuck’s sake, we were there to bury my sister. I gave her a plastic grin, perfect for the setting, “Oh, then you’ve probably read some of catalog.” I gave her my pen name, “Maybe you read my breakout novel, Can’t Buy My Love?”

Mrs. Fuentes’ nostrils flared and recognition flickered in her eyes. She licked her lips, “Ah, I don’t think I’ve heard the name.”

By this time, Gabe wasn’t fidgeting in his seat; he leaned against me, “You’re Ms. Fuentes, right?”

She nodded.

He said, “Mom thought you’d enjoy my aunt’s books.”

Mrs. Fuentes worked her jaw, but no words came out. Finally, she managed a squeak, “My condolences for your loss.”

She beat a hasty retreat. Gabe leaned in and whispered, “I bet she has every one of your books, Syd.”

I bit back a chuckle. Without hypocrites like Mrs. Fuentes, writers like me would have much smaller audiences; still the encounter galled me. Fortunately, that’s when Father Sandoval stepped up to a lectern provided by the cemetery.

He offered a sad smile to me and Gabe, before sweeping a gaze across the crowded tent. He cleared his throat and said, “Our sister Abby Nelson has gone to her rest in the peace of Christ. May the Lord now welcome her to the table of God’s children in heaven. With faith and hope in eternal life, let us assist her with our prayers. Let us pray to the Lord also for ourselves. May we who mourn be reunited one day with our sister, Abby; together may we meet Christ Jesus when He who is our life appears in glory.”

I fought Mom tooth and nail when I was a teen and refused to go to Confirmation, and hadn’t been to a confessional since I was Gabe’s age. Still, I couldn’t deny there’s a pageantry to the liturgy. Gabe leaned his head against my shoulder. A single tear streaked his cheek.

Father Sandoval added, “Amen.”

A smattering of Amens greeted him from the crowd of mourners. The priest opened a Bible and read, “We read in sacred Scripture, from the book of Saint Matthew, chapter twenty-five, verse thirty-four. Come, you whom my Father has blessed, says the Lord; inherit the kingdom prepared for you since the foundation of the world.”

From there, he took a flask containing holy water and sprinkled it over Abby’s casket. Another prayer followed, in which he prayed for Abby’s soul. I wondered if it was a waste of time. It seemed to me if there was a heaven, Abby would have been one of the first to get in.

The liturgy continued, where he explained the ashes to ashes and dust to dust. God or not, it dawned on me sitting there, staring at my sister’s casket, the whole thing wasn’t for her. She was either with the angels or she was only a memory. Were I to strip away the veneer of religion away from the priest’s words, this was all about making it easier for those of us still here to move on. After all, life is for the living.

For the first time in more than a dozen years, I bowed my head and tuned the priest out. If Abby was still around, I needed her to know I would always take care of Gabe. In the stillness of my mind, I said, “Hey Sis, I don’t know if you’re still around, or if I’m just talking to myself. But if you are up there, I just want you to know how much I miss you. If you’ve been watching from up there, you’re probably ready to kick my ass, but I want you to know I love Gabe and promise to take care of him. You knew when you asked me to watch him I’d be a shitty aunt, but you still asked me to do it. So, I figure you knew I’d do my best to be his friend.”

I sighed and looked up. Father Sandoval was still reciting liturgy. Gabe leaned forward, his lips pursed, listening to the priest. I wasn’t very good at this prayer thing, but I needed to unburden myself to my sister, I looked down at the grass, “And as you’re my witness, I’m doing the best I know how. I vow I’ll keep him by my side until he’s eighteen. And I hope for a lot longer. I hope you can forgive me for the things I’ve already done to him, and for the things I’m still hoping for. Just know, I’m going to do my best for him, teach him everything I know, and help him become a man we’d both be proud of.”

The priest said, “Amen,” and again there was a smattering of amens in response.

He blessed the casket, then turned and made the sign of the cross over me and Gabe, “Merciful Lord, you know the anguish of the sorrowful, you are attentive to the prayers of the humble. Hear your people who cry out to you in their need, and strengthen their hope in your lasting goodness; We ask this through Christ our Lord.”

Again, that smattering of Catholics among the mourners responded, “Amen.”

They were the first to get up. Some filed by the casket, but most started back toward their cars. It was surreal. My mom never took me to a church funeral. Of the two I’d attended in high school and college, one was secular and the other was a Protestant service. I wanted to grab Gabe by the hand and make toward our rental car, but that seemed in poor taste, so I stayed in the seat, accepting condolences and making small talk with Abby’s friends. It was a shame Mrs. Fuentes beat a hasty retreat at the end of the service. I so wanted to suggest a reading list of other romance authors.

Finally, Father Sandoval came over, “You guys staying in town long?”

Gabe’s hand found mine as we stood. He spoke, “Mom took care of everything. The house, her stuff. Everything. Not that we had much.”

The priest said, “By the time Abby knew she was sick, the cancer was pretty far along. But she had enough time to make sure she didn’t leave behind a mess to clean up. I can tell you for a fact, most people either don’t get that kind of chance, or figure someone else will unravel the estate after they’re gone. At least your mom made sure that you have your aunt.”

Gabe shrugged, “I love my aunt. Some of me is glad Mom asked my aunt to come get me. But the rest of me is still upset she didn’t let me know she was dying. This sucks as a goodbye.”

The priest put a few items from the lectern into a satchel, “It’s okay to be angry at your mom, Gabe. But don’t let it turn to bitterness.”

He took his leave, walking toward the cemetery’s exit. I slid an arm around Gabe and we stared at the casket for a few minutes before eventually leaving.

***

The Holiday Inn Express was your typical hotel; two queen beds, a couple of chairs, and a table. When we returned after a painfully quiet meal at the Olive Garden, Gabe disappeared into the bathroom for a while. When he came out, he dressed like he’d been that first night he stayed with me, in just his underwear. He didn’t say a word, he just lay down and rolled onto his side, facing the wall.

“You okay, sweetie?”

He didn’t say anything. I let it alone for the time being. I tried to find something on TV, but after a bit, nothing struck my fancy. I turned it off and tried again. I crossed over and sat on the edge of Gabe’s bed, “Sweetie, you okay?”

His voice was muffled, “Leave me alone.”

When you love someone, you hate to see them hurt. Love can sometimes cloud our judgement. I reached out and touched Gabe’s shoulder. He shrugged it away, “I said, go away.”

I retreated to the other bed, “I’m sorry.”

He must have been trying to hide it until that moment. But now I heard his sobs as his shoulders shook. It took every ounce of my will to not go back to him. Frustrated because I didn’t know what to do, I went to the bathroom, where I tried to relax by taking a long bath.

As I lathered my legs and took my razor to them, I thought back to the last night, less than a week ago, when Gabe and I had fooled around in my bed. Since being back in Bakersfield, we had kept our distance from each other, at least sexually. He wore a shell of impenetrable grief. Although I had touched him, it had only been the way his mom might have. He hadn’t responded even to those awkward maternal touches.

On a scale of one to ten, where one is a preteen girl with no hair and ten is the wife of sasquatch, I’m probably a three or so. If I were to let my hair grow out on my legs, it would be pretty sparse. Even at its thickest, around my ankles, there’s not a lot. So, shaving my legs was a quick job. I’d been shaving my pubes since I found out several of the girls in high school shaved theirs. Once I realized how nice it made it when I masturbated, I never stopped shaving between my legs. After more than a week since my last shave, the stubble was thick between my labia and pubic mound. Still, with practiced ease, I returned it to its preferred state.

It had been a week since I last touched myself down there and part of me, the part who was hurt by Gabe pushing me away, wanted to ravage my clit, work myself up into a powerful cum. I discarded the idea when I realized the water was cooling; I’d been in the bathroom long enough. I dried off and wrapped a towel around my torso and went back into the other room. Gabe lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks were wet.

I grabbed a clean pair of panties from my travel bag and turned away from Gabe. I let the towel fall and then slid the underwear up my legs until I lightly slapped the frilly band against my lower abs. I felt his eyes on me and once I slid into my cami, I turned around. “Yes?”

Gabe said, “I-, I’m sorry about earlier. That was a dick thing to do.”

I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but I crossed the room and sat on the edge of his bed, “No, I shouldn’t have pushed. You take all the time you need, sweetie.”

He scooted over, giving me a bit more room, “No. I’m really pissed off at Mom. She had no right to hide how sick she was. But she treated you the same way she treated me. It’s stupid to take it out on you. The only thing I’m glad of was that you came and picked me up. I know that’s crazy. Pissed at her because she made me go away. Happy it was with you because you… well, you love me even more than Mom.”

I place my hand on his knee, “I wouldn’t say more than your mom. She loved you like only a mother can. I love you, well, like a girlfriend, only more.”

He wiped at his cheeks. “I-, I like that. Me too.”

He yawned, and I looked at the alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds. It was almost ten. And the day had been one of the worst in both of our lives. I stood and tugged at the covers, “Come on, Gabe, go on and get under the covers.”

Once under the covers, he said, “Um, Syd, is it okay if you hold me tonight, even if I don’t feel like being touched?”

“You want me to hold you, but not touch you?”

A ghost of a smile played at the corners of Gabe’s lips. “You know what I mean. On my, um, dick.”

I had to repress a smile. As I slid between the sheet and the cover, I hoped his lack of interest would not be long term. Even so, it felt nice once I shifted my body over to his back and snuggled against him. Just before Abby’s passing, I wondered if he might have pushed past my height. And now, playing the big spoon to his small, I noticed he was now taller than me, if just by an inch or so.

He grabbed my hand and pulled it to his chest, “Mm, that’s better.”

Before long, his soft sonorous snores told me he was asleep. For me, I lay awake wondering what held. It was a long time before I finally drifted off.

Copyright 2022 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved

The Road Less Traveled – Chapter 8
By
Caliboy1991

When you pay more than three-quarters of a million dollars for a luxury motorcoach, it comes with a lot of bells and whistles. Those I’ve enjoyed from the first day were the blackout shades in the bedroom. The first sign of morning was a delicate caress on my stomach. Fingers traced my microscopic vellus hairs around my belly button, circling the scar left by my umbilical cord over twenty-four years ago.

When Gabe reached my sternum, I felt the familiar fluttering in my stomach. He didn’t stop; his fingers arced around, swooping to the right of my navel before curving below. He stopped when his index finger found the lacy waistband of my panties. I admired his bravery while I slept. Every journey one takes begins with a first step.

I murmured, “Good morning, sweetie. I don’t think anyone’s ever awakened me in such a pleasant way.”

When his fingers retreated from my panties, I put my hand on top of his a few inches above my belly. He stammered, “G-, good morning, Syd. At first, I thought last night was a dream. Waking up next to you and, um, seeing your, ah, boobs, I knew it wasn’t a dream.”

Although my bedroom was dark, I could see Gabe’s body just as he had been last night. Naked. And sporting his morning wood. I could hardly believe he could cum, even though he was still a few days shy of turning twelve. With my hand over his, I guided it upwards, along the pronounced ridges of my ribs. I had never put my bra back on before falling asleep, so there was nothing to push aside before resting his palm on one of my tits.

Warm tingles spread across my chest as his fingers played with a nipple. I moaned as pleasure ebbed and flowed through me. I moved closer to Gabe, and leaned in, “Kiss me!”

Our lips touched. Gabe’s lips worked the kiss like a pro. He applied what he learned. I shifted in the bed until our bodies touched, although his hand kept playing with my tit.

With no underwear, his cock pressed against my pubic mound. When he came up for air, Gabe gasped, “This feels like we’re more than just friends.”

When I realized how badly I wanted this young boy to take me, to own me, the last thing I wanted was for him to see the aunt/nephew dynamic. He had to see me as a friend first. My greatest desire was for him to see us as more than that.

I nibbled on his lip before resting my head on his shoulder, “I feel it too. Gabe, have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“No. Mom says I can date when she’s dead.”

The words hung over us like a knife. He muttered an apology, “It’s what she said, Syd. It’s just knowing how sick she is, I feel bad about saying that.”

I caressed his back, “It’s alright, Gabe. Your mom just wants to hold on to your childhood after it’s gone. But while you’re with me, how would you feel about making up our own rules?”

He nuzzled his face against my neck, “Like last night?”

Heat poured through me, “Yeah. I feel the same way you do; like we’re a lot more than just friends.”

Gabe’s lips sought mine. He kissed me and played with my chest until he ran out of breath. “So, we’re more than friends?”

I squeezed him in my embrace, “You’re so strong, Gabe. What did I tell you last night?”

“You said I conquered you. But I still don’t understand what it means, Syd.”

My lips brushed against his, and I slid my hand between our bodies and cupped it over his cock, “It means I want you to kiss me. To force your hands up my shirt and play with my tits, to take me and make me yours.”

I felt his heart pounding against his chest. His voice shook, “Like sex?”

I gazed into his eyes and nodded, “Yes, Gabe. I want you to possess me like the men in my books.”

His cock pulsed against my palm. His voice was raw with desire, “I, uh, I need to pee. I’ll be right back, Syd.”

Despite the blackout curtains, I enjoyed the sight of his ass before he disappeared into the toilet closet. I wanted to feel his nearly five inches slide into me. My panties were drenched with my juices. Were he to return and mount me and fuck me, I was wet enough.

It was a silly fantasy for sweet, adorable Gabe to play the role of asshole billionaires. Or for me to take whatever he dishes out. I hated every one of the five minutes Kyle fucked me when I was a college freshman. He was rough and unskilled and hurt me when he took my virginity. Yet, I was basically asking Gabe to play a similar role. Sometimes our psyches are fucked up. I won’t deny it. Gabe wasn’t like that one time before. He was the personification of my fantasies, of rough, capable men who knew what they wanted and knew how to take it and give the heroine what she needed too.

The sound of water being suctioned from the toilet alerted me that Gabe was done. A moment later, he came out and stood at the corner of the bed. His cock was limp. Absentmindedly, he toyed with it as he looked at me, indecision on his face. While I wanted him to take control, I knew I’d need to help him along, “What would you like to do first, sweetie?”

He glanced at his three soft inches, “Can you do what you did last night?”

I nodded, “Sure. Come here.”

He climbed onto the bed and I took his hand and pulled him to me. As much as I wanted him inside me, that look on his face reminded me sex was something to work toward. I said, “Straddle my stomach, Gabe.”

He slid his knee over my stomach and sat on my belly. Even though he weighed over a hundred pounds, it wasn’t too much. I took him in my fingers and watched the three-inch limp noodle transform into almost five inches of boy-steel. Once he was hard, I slowly jacked him up and down a few times. Even though he sat on my stomach, I wished his cock was closer to me. I don’t know why. Never in my life had I let a guy put his cock into my mouth, but Gabe’s beautiful cock fascinated me.

I let go of him long enough to put my hands against his butt and pulled at him. Without a word exchanged, Gabe inched forward, moving from my belly to just below my tits. My fist wrapped around him and I jacked him up and down a few more times. With just a finger, I pushed his dick down until it lined up with my face. Six inches separated my mouth from that morsel of boy meat.

He couldn’t help but notice, “Do you want to lick it?”

“If you don’t mind.”

He didn’t. Gabe shifted his hips forward until his circumcised glans touched my lips. I kissed the tip. Unlike sex videos, or what I recalled from Kyle, there was nothing leaking from that little hole, although there was a hint of piss. A second lick and even that taste faded.

I took him by the base and bobbed forward, sliding his helmet shaped head through my lips. My tongue slid through his tiny piss slit, eliciting an excited hiss, “Oh, wow!”

I was ready to take more of him into my mouth when my phone rang. We both ignored it. He pushed his hips, and I pushed my face toward him. My lips slid past the perfect ring formed by his circumcision. The heat from the first inch of his pole plus his glans made me salivate. I wanted all of him.

The phone rang again. Gabe’s hiss was one of frustration. I pulled back and grabbed the phone. It was from Bakersfield. Thoughts of Abby pushed through my horniness and I said, “Just a sec, sweetie. Maybe it’s your mom.”

I swiped the answer button, and tried to make my voice sound like I hadn’t been giving my first blowjob to a nearly twelve-year-old, “Hello?”

A gravelly voice responded, “Ms. Nelson? Ms. Sydney Nelson?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Father Sandoval, I’m a chaplain at Embracing Arms Hospice. Your sister has been our guest.”

I felt confused. When Abby had called, she told us she was being treated at one of the local hospitals. When had she gone to a hospice? And why the hell now? Even though I had Gabe’s succulent meat inches from my face, icy dread clawed at my stomach. “Is there something wrong with Abby?”

“I’m sorry to say, your sister passed away this morning.”

Gabe could hear the priest’s every word, so close was he to me. He leaned back, a stunned expression on his face. I stammered, “Wha-, how? She called us last night from the hospital. Sure, she said it was worse than she feared, but this morning? Good God, what happened?”

Gabe slid from my chest, nestling against me, tears falling down his cheeks. One of my arms slid around his back, pulling him against my side. I turned the speaker on; He was already listening, there was no point in even trying to hide the call. Father Sandoval said, “So that’s what she told you. She came to us about three weeks ago after receiving a terminal diagnosis for stage four breast cancer. She was terminal at that time.”

Nothing about this conversation was going the way I expected. “But the treatment? She told me when I came to pick up Gabe that her doctors wanted her to undergo a couple of months’ worth of chemo at the hospital. Why would she lie about that?”

“I think she wanted to spare her son the agony of watching her die over a protracted illness. Didn’t your mother pass from cancer too?”

My voice was raw and ragged, “Y-, yeah. Abby was there for the whole thing. Mom lingered for a while.”

There was compassion in the priest’s voice, “I’m really sorry, Ms. Nelson. I doubt there’s any consolation, but many of our guests linger until their bodies are all that remain. I heard your sister’s confession last night and although she was in a lot of pain, she was also very much of sound mind.”

He was right. I found little consolation. I looked at Gabe and through his tears he mouthed, “how?”

I asked the disembodied voice, “It sounds like you expected her to hang on longer. What changed?”

The priest said, “Abby went into cardiac arrest around five o’clock this morning. Like most of our guests, she had a Do Not Resuscitate order on file. There was nothing to be done.”

I wanted to scream that he could bring back my sister. But I knew it wouldn’t help. Abby went out the way she wanted, even if she cut Gabe and me out of the process. I wanted to blame her, but after what she went through with our mom, it was hard to fault her.

Gabe looked at me with his tear-soaked eyes, “What’s going to happen now?”

The priest must have thought he was talking to the phone. “Young man, I’m sorry for your loss. Your mom told me how much she loved you. For now, she took care of her own arrangements. She wants to have a graveside mass once you guys are back in town.”

Bakersfield was a two-day drive in the RV. I couldn’t imagine putting Gabe through that. Not now. “We’re in Colorado at the moment. We can probably fly out later today and be there tonight.”

The priest said, “You’ve got a bit of time. If you’d like, you can have the vigil on Friday evening and interment at the cemetery on Saturday. Most of Abby’s friends aren’t Catholic and she asked to forego the funeral mass at church.”

As a lapsed Catholic, I didn’t care. But it meant a lot to Abby, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Father Sandoval spoke with us for a few more minutes. When the call ended, Gabe wrapped his arms around my neck and cried. I held him close as my tears mixed with his. In one unexpected phone call, his world had been upended. The security he found in his mom was gone, crushed under the terrible weight of cancer. My world was upended. The uncertainty of Abby’s diagnosis and treatment was over. Her fight was over. There was no pretending that she would recover or that Gabe would return home.

For better or worse, we were going to be together until his eighteenth birthday. The part of me who was still his aunt knew I needed to do better; I was a horrible parental role model. The other part of me wanted something more. It was that part of me who saw Gabe’s potential as a writer, as someone who made me feel alive and part of something wonderful.

I didn’t know which of those two parts to give Gabe, so I cried with him until we could find no more tears. Eventually, he let go of me and wiped his nose with his elbow. He hiccupped, “Wh-, what am I supposed to do now, Syd?”

Drying my eyes, I said, “Can you google the nearest airport with commercial flights? I’m going to get dressed and start loading the RV. Today’s going to be a long day, sweetie, and we best get moving.”

Copyright 2022 – Caliboy1991
All rights reserved