The List

by Alice Ward

  My father had been wild when he was a young man. In many ways, my mother often compared me to him, telling me how like my father I was. I hated it when she said it because he embodied everything in my world that generated hatred. I even resembled him physically, and when I left for college, I’d vowed I would never do anything that would remind others I was his son.

  When he had finished college, he took off with a couple of his friends, young men from good families in the area. They had headed west to buy breeding stock and to enjoy the life of young, rich bucks in the meantime. They ended up in California horse country, a storied land with a reputation almost as hallowed as these bluegrass hills that surrounded me as I drove.

  Father had begun drinking heavily and taken up hanging out at the horse track at Santa Anita. His losses were piling up and he had exhausted his own spending money and borrowed heavily from the other guys he was with. Finally, they were all broke and there was nothing else to do but to call home for money. Although I never met him, I’d heard enough stories to know that the apple had not fallen far from the tree. Worthington LaViere I was someone to be reckoned with and ruled with an iron fist. It was he who had built the farm and its holdings from nothing.

  My grandfather had been very angry and refused to give my father any more money, thinking it would teach him a lesson and force him to mend his ways. Therefore, my father turned to less legal ways of making money.

  He had gotten involved with a group of men from the syndicate in Chicago. They needed someone young and who looked like he belonged in the stables at the back of the track. They needed someone like Father.

  In return for financing his gambling, he was to keep tabs on the horses and jockeys and to fix certain races so the syndicate fellows would clean up. In essence, he did their dirty work. At the same time, Father continued to gamble, betting on the races that he fixed for the syndicate, and a few for himself. That was, until they found out.

  He had made a deal with a jockey named Johnny Torez, a young rider out of Mexico, who was in the U.S. illegally but no one cared enough to check. He was built for the job and handled the horses like a magician. Father made a deal with Johnny to come in second in a stakes race and then he laid ten thousand at the window on the fixed odds. Johnny came through but my father refused to pay him his cut and the jockey got back at him by letting the syndicate know that Father had gone behind their backs.

  They sent one of their men to kill him, but he’d gotten word just in time and when the hit men came, there was only Johnny to take the blame. They decided not to hit Johnny, but to leave him as bait. They knew Father’s gambling was a sickness and that sooner or later, he would return to try it a second time.

  That’s exactly what he did. This time, he made the deal with Johnny and promised him a bigger share than before to make up for the hassle. Johnny came through and when the syndicate heard he was back they went in for the kill. All they found, however, was Johnny Torez, crumpled in a pile of hay in one of the stalls, a knife lodged in his heart. There was little doubt who had done it and little doubt who stood to benefit by silencing Johnny.

  The word went out on Father and he hightailed it back for Kentucky and fell on his knees to my grandfather. The original Worth LaViere was not a man to be trifled with and he used his influence to call off the contract and paid the syndicate any monies they calculated they’d lost by Father’s betrayal. There was still the little matter of a dead jockey and there was little Grandfather could do about it at that late date.

  So, my father had lived in the shadow of a crime he was afraid might resurface at any point. My guess was that his guilt made him all the meaner and more careless and that’s why he’d had the affair with Auggie’s mother. He cared little for anyone or anything because he could feel the leather straps of an electric chair on his footsteps every day of his life.

  He had known I was smart and that I ran with the same set of people he’d been with. I presented a huge risk to him. I could find out and have him arrested at a moment’s notice. The risk was more than he could stomach and his fear became a sort of hatred, but it was directed at me. He saw in me the reckless, wanton behavior of his own youth, the same behavior that had gotten him into so much trouble. He didn’t want to beat it out of me. He wanted to beat me to cleanse himself of his own sins.

  So, now, I drove away from the house I’d grown up in. It was sullied with blood in a way that couldn’t be cleaned with soap and water. I would never step foot in that house again as long as I lived.

  Father found a way to get back at me, after all. He hoped, I’m sure, to leave me with a legacy of guilt, and most certainly of shame for having been the son of a man who was a murderer and a coward beneath the hateful exterior of a monster. He had the last word. I couldn’t tell him of the sense of relief his death brought… and not just to me.

  What still remained was telling Mother. I pulled up to the condo and saw a news truck parked at the edge of the parking lot. I imagined that Auggie had thoughtfully notified the management to be on the lookout and that any non-resident would be denied access to the parking area inside the gate.

  I went up to the condo, using every bit of my education to form the words that I must say. How could I tell my mother that her husband had hated his life — with her, with me, and with my child to come — enough to take his own life? She could never return to the farm now, either. There were too many painful memories for that to be a healthy choice.

  Mother surprisingly accepted the news quietly. In fact, she didn’t even seem particularly surprised. It was as if she knew he had run out of options and when I’d offered for her to come with me, she was eager to be gone when he resolved his life in the only way that made sense to him. Perhaps she welcomed the shackles being cut. Her life was not over. She had friends and distant family. She was even still young enough to start over with a new husband and perhaps that would be her reward for having stayed.

  After the coroner returned his report stating that Father had died by a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, we had him cremated and his remains buried in the family cemetery at the back of the farm. There were few mourners; not even those people who would come to gloat. It was as if he had been erased from the memory of everyone who knew him.

  When I walked into Joe’s the day after the funeral, the regulars put up a toast of respect, to Worth LaViere, III. I acknowledged all this meant and had shed the claustrophobic skin of being a son, finally.

  We retreated from the world for a few days until the headlines disappeared. I’d canceled my appointments, but I don’t think anyone was really surprised. I had other doctors on staff to cover for me for the time being. I needed to be at home with my wife and my mother.

  After the funeral, I felt we needed a change of scenery. I booked first-class seats for Puerto Rico and took Mother and Auggie down to a resort for a week. Mother was as excited as a young child. Father never included her in any of his trips and she’d barely been out of Kentucky over her entire lifetime. It made me feel good to give her this simple pleasure.

  The resort where we stayed had several pools and Mother respected our privacy and spent most days in the sun or lounging within a cabana with a book. Auggie and I, on the other hand, made love continually, only stopping to sleep and eat. I think we needed the reassurance that everything would be okay with us and with our future.

  It happened that we ran into some people we knew from Louisville, most notably a gentleman of Mother’s acquaintance when she was in college. He was recently widowed as well, and they spent two evenings sharing over long dinners. If nothing else, it made her feel vibrant as a woman again, and I hoped they might get together upon returning home.

  The blissful week finally came to an end. We had managed to wash off the horror of the preceding weeks and could look to our futures with a more positive view. Auggie’s shape was changing daily and I had never seen her more beautiful.

  When we returned to Louisville, it was decided that Mother would r
emain with us at the condo. I couldn’t be certain, but her mood almost seemed superficially somber. She received calls from friends on a continual basis and it was almost as if there was relief on everyone’s mind.

  I had counseled hundreds of patients for grieving. I understood the stages, the relief followed by the guilt. I asked myself if I was being cold, but I could not find grief in my heart. Not as a son, not as a man, not even as an admirer of a man who had managed to build an empire. He was simply and finally… gone.

  I’d heard a story that Auggie’s mother had poured herself a glass of straight bourbon, downed it at one time and then slammed it down, proclaiming, “There! That’s the end of that!” It seemed no one would mourn him.

  The attorney contacted me a week following our return, needing some papers signed. It seemed Father had left the estate to me. Some sort of ironic dare, I suppose. I signed it over to Mother and told her to sell it and spend every penny of it enjoying herself.

  It was at that point that Auggie and I came to a decision. The baby was due soon and our life was not yet settled. We decided to move into our new home right away.

  I hired movers to pack our personal items, especially those for the nursery. Otherwise, we left the condo intact and Mother moved in. She would be closer to us and further from the memories of the farm. She had it cleaned and the furniture removed, thereafter putting it into the hands of a realtor. While the house certainly held a stigma, the land and barns were the majority of the value and new owners could choose to raze the house and build anew. Personally, I hoped that’s exactly what they would do. I’d never particularly liked the house and there was plenty of room to build a much larger building. If the real estate agent advised it, I would have the house demolished myself and offer the land and barns alone. Either way, Mother had a haven at the condo near us and we had a feeling that she would not be lonely for long.

  I heard no more threats about the clinic and began to make plans to open a second one in Lexington, and then had my sights set on Cincinnati.

  Now that things were more settled, Auggie came in one day for a back massage to relieve the sore muscles from the weight of the baby. Everyone crowded around her, making a fuss over her, and she loved every minute of it. As much as I knew she looked forward to being a mother, there was a side of her that was very sociable and practical. I began to give some thought to asking her to be a part of the business, particularly when we opened the new sites.

  I broached this to her that evening and was surprised at her reaction.

  ***

  “I don’t think so,” she said immediately.

  “Oh? Really? I thought you would love to try your hand at the business, Auggie. After all, that’s what you went to school to learn, right?”

  “Just because I know a good deal about business doesn’t mean I agree with how you run yours,” she pointed out in a salty tone.

  “Which means?”

  “Worth, I love you, but you’ve been reckless in the way you treat your clients. You know as well as I that you’ve found occasions to influence them unfairly when they came to you for your professionalism and guidance.”

  “Hardly, dear. They come to be forgiven of their sins. I explained that to you.”

  “Perhaps some do,” she agreed. “But that isn’t for you to decide. I didn’t care for whatever you did to get Mrs. Jessup’s son to donate that money. I don’t want to know how you did it, but all the evidence leads back to you. Can you deny that just perhaps you abused the privileges of your profession a bit to get what you wanted?”

  I must have looked guilty because she called me on it instantly. “See what I mean?”

  “Auggie, I want you to work with me. You’ve got a good head and I’m going to need help. Expansion takes time and expertise. I can’t do it all alone. Not unless I give up my practice entirely.”

  “Worth, I don’t think you need to go to that length. Just be more professional.”

  “If I promise to do as you say, will you reconsider?” I really wanted her help and was ashamed of her condemnation. I wanted to run everything above board, the way I’d promised myself I would do. I wanted the name LaViere to stand for something noble and not dark and evil.

  She could see the earnest look on my face. She came over to me, leaning upward to kiss me. Her breasts were bursting and their softness against my chest was nearly my undoing. Jesus, I wanted her, baby or not.

  “I will promise you this. When this baby is born and our household stable enough to support my being away for a few hours each day, as long as you’ve kept your promise to stay above board, I will come and work with you,” she allowed.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. You don’t know what that means to me.”

  “Not so fast, Worth,” she cautioned. “You’ve got some bad habits and they’re hard to break. To compete legally, you’ll have to stop manipulating all the way around. Do you think you can do that?”

  “I do.” I was serious.

  “Very well. Keep it above board and I’m there. Revert and I’m out.”

  I would keep my word to her. I would make her proud. For some reason, I felt a need to be accountable to someone, and Auggie was a far better choice than the man who had sired me.

  In the meantime, our household was preparing for Christmas and the birth of our baby. In a resolution to be more sociable, we had decided to host a pre-Christmas gala. Auggie had hired caterers and Jeremy came by to add his unique touch to the decorations throughout the house.

  Although we’d had a bit of snow, it had already melted by the next morning so it appeared as though we would have a green Christmas. Auggie had decided to improvise and she’d hired the white carriages drawn by horses that commonly carried tourists in the downtown area. They pulled up in the parking area outside our house and we invited our guests to take a carriage ride, complete with hot cider and other holiday refreshments. Auggie was becoming loved and known; well on her way to being a replacement for the aging Mrs. Jessup as society’s matron. While I didn’t think the role suited her since she was still far too young, I could not discount the advantage it would present while growing the business and later with having our children established properly.

  Auggie was heavy with our child and supervising the installation of our personal Christmas decorations on a twenty-foot fir that had been set up in the main foyer. I was in my office, going over the paperwork left from settling Father’s estate. I wanted it done before the new year set in.

  “Worth!” she called out and I could tell she was alarmed. I found her standing in a puddle of fluid, her eyes huge in terror. “Worth, my water broke! It’s too early!”

  I grabbed her, put my arm around her and called to Betsy, the lady we had hired to help Auggie and to see to the cooking and care of the house.

  “Get Auggie’s bag, Betsy,” I told her and scooped my wife into my arms, threw a coat over her and deposited her in the back seat of the Escalade. Betsy followed with the suitcase that had long been packed beneath the bed and as I pulled out of the drive and headed toward the hospital, I called Mother and then Auggie’s dad.

  Worthington LaViere, IV was born just after midnight and despite his early arrival, he weighed six pounds and screamed as only my son could.

  My mother was on hand, as was Auggie’s dad, although Mrs. Langford chose to stay home. I was rather relieved at this.

  Auggie, although depleted from the ten-hour labor, was jubilant and already planning the decorating of the nursery. She held baby Worth close to her breast and although he was as yet too young to begin nursing, I could not imagine a more beautiful tableau.

  Mother and child came home three days later. The hospital wanted Worth, whom we had nicknamed Ford from his middle name, to stay an extra two days for observation and Auggie insisted on staying with him.

  By Christmas Eve, the baby was settled into his own bed in a pale green nursery that perfectly offset the emerald eyes he’d inherited from his mother. I could tell he would grow up to l
ikely be a very handsome young man.

  My wife had returned to her rightful place in my bed. Although I knew it would be some time before I could fill her beautiful body with my love, I was content to simply have the people I loved the most nearby. I could not have asked for a more beautiful Christmas.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Worth

  Auggie was lying next to me, it was late February and I wanted her. Her body was ripe and her breasts full with motherhood. Her skin seemed to glow as though lit from within.

  I found her thigh with my hand and began to stroke it, moving closer to the inside with each rotation. I heard her expel her breath as she moved closer to me. She wanted me, as well.

  I rose to my knees and positioned myself above her head, bending to kiss her nose and then her mouth. Even upside down, her lips were perfectly formed and moist. I breathed in her scent and grew hard.

  Auggie forced my knees apart and moved between my thighs. Tilting her head backward, she used her hands to stroke my cock, and I groaned as she took me into her mouth. With her head tilted back, she was able to take more of me into her throat than ever before. I felt her tongue sliding up one side and down the other, then switching to suck hard upon my tip. Desire flamed and my balls tightened.

  “Stop, baby. I want to be inside you.”

  When she didn’t stop, I pulled her away, those beautiful lips releasing me as I turned her onto her back.

  “I’m going to go slow, my darling. You tell me if you’re the least bit sore, promise?” I asked.

  She nodded but the only word I heard was, “More.”

  I entered her gently at first but her swollen pussy clutched at me, not wanting me to withdraw. As I pushed inside her again, I shuddered as she closed around me, hot and snug. The honey-wet silk spasmed, and I nearly lost it right there. I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to let go. I didn’t want to leave her warmth just yet.

  I withdrew and thrust harder, tearing a cry from her lips. “Don’t stop,” she moaned against my mouth.