K-I-S-S-I-N-G

by Dana Pratola

  K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  by Dana Pratola

  Text Copyright © 2018 K-I-S-S-I-N-G by Dana Pratola

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental. Scenes in this story may contain graphic and/or sexual situations not suitable for younger readers, but are framed by Christian morals and/or solutions.

  Cover Design: Suzanne D. Williams

  *Rated R: This book contains sexual content, strong adult themes, and is intended for audiences 18 and up.

  ~~ Acknowledgements ~~

  ~ To God, first and always: I only do what I do because of the gifts You’ve put in me. It’s my desire to give back, by using my words to touch others and guide them to You.

  ~ To my family, Robert Sr., Rob II (the sequel), Danielle & Angelo: You guys are huge motivations for all that I do. Love you always & forever.

  ~ To Suzanne D. Williams and all my beta readers, editors and reviewers: I couldn’t do this without you. That’s a fact.

  Winsome and Caleb, sitting in a tree

  K-I-S-S-I-N-G

  First comes love

  then comes marriage

  Then comes baby in the baby carriage

  CHAPTER 1

  Stubborn, hair-brained, irrational. Words considered insults by some, to Cal they were some of his great aunt’s most endearing qualities. She was also wise, caring and determined, though that didn’t change the fact that she was a pain. Yes, Ruth Ridge Sage was determined to have her way, even in death.

  Cal tried to focus on the words being spoken over the small, hushed group. Mostly the attorney’s own lament of how he’d lost a treasured and respected friend, and how there would never be another like her. All spoken in sincerity and truth. Finn McCafferty had been Ruth’s dearest friend since college, too many years back for either to remember clearly, but so firmly established in their minds that every time they were together they spoke of the parts they did remember. At least lately. Reminding each other, it seemed to Cal.

  “Finn, do you remember the time we went to the lake up in Somerset, and it was absolutely freezing, and you nearly cut your finger off on that fishing line?”

  “Ruth, remember the time…?”

  What no one had realized at the time was that Aunt Ruth had been fact checking. Sifting through the fading and loose files fluttering around in her damaged brain to determine what was real, and what was fantasy. When those around her most often began to note the times she no longer remembered how to boil an egg, or would cry when she put her shoes on the wrong feet and couldn’t reason a solution, her endearing quirks were now warning signs. Soon, amusement turned to apprehensive resignation, knowing she wouldn’t be with them much longer. Ruth knew it, accepted it, and prayed she would be spared the drawn-out life of confusion that came with Alzheimer’s. She was granted that request when her doctor discovered an inoperable brain tumor. Within two months, she was dead.

  Cal sucked in a stifled breath, willing his lungs to expand. The cramped room, made more uncomfortable by the presence of ten people, was practically airless, with its one window closed behind heavy drawn drapes.

  “I have a statement that Ruth wanted read here today,” Finn said, in his breathy, tremulous voice. “It’s brief and to the point.” He cleared his throat, but his voice still came out in the same thready half-whisper.

  “To my beloved family and friends. Thank you for coming on what you may consider a sad occasion. For me, I’m glad to have shed this rickety body and am now free to dance the nights away with Saint Peter.”

  A quiet ripple of laughter moved through the room.

  “I want no fights or feuds or bad feelings over what I’ve done,” Finn continued, speaking for Ruth. “It’s my stuff, after all, to do with as I please. Just know I’ve done as I pleased with no coercion or trickery and at this point, at this hour, I’m of sound mind and have thought this through long and hard. I love you all, or believe you me, you wouldn’t be getting anything. Now let Finn get through this. Signed, Ruth Ridge Sage.”

  More laughter, a little less subdued. Finn sniffed.

  “And now onto the pressing matters of the bequeathment,” he said.

  Cal almost sniggered. As long as he’d known him, Finn had never once called a will a will, always a bequeathment.

  Final obligations and endowments to charities didn’t hold much interest to anyone present, but once Finn started naming personal property, those gathered, scooted closer to the edges of their seats. He ticked off item after item, from the moose head given to her by a former President, to the cherry breakfront her niece, Sharon, had always coveted. In typical Aunt Ruth fashion, she didn’t give the entire breakfront to Sharon, only the drawers, doors, and hardware. The shell itself, was given to her husband, Donald. There had probably been a reason, in Ruth’s mind, but Cal had no desire to rack his brain trying to find it.

  He sat as patiently as the lack of oxygen would allow, while some of Ruth’s belongings were legally dispersed. He didn’t care much what happened to them, as he already knew he was getting the house and property. They’d discussed it many times over the years. Still, given her propensity for the absurd, he had a few anxious moments when Finn glanced at him, snapped the document in his gnarled fingers, and began to read.

  “The house and property, and all attachments are to be left to Caleb Sage.”

  Inwardly, Cal released a relieved breath. Outwardly, he flinched not a muscle. No one seemed surprised, and there were no sour faces he could detect.

  “There are further instructions,” Finn continued. “They are for you, personally, Cal, and your great aunt asked we read them in private.” He dropped the papers on the desk. “The rest of you may go. Thank you for coming.”

  There were hugs and handshakes before the room cleared, and finally Cal could say what he’d been holding back the whole time.

  “Can we please open the window?”

  Finn gave a curt nod and Cal slid the window up only half way in deference to the old man’s susceptibility to drafts.

  “These are your aunt’s final wishes on the matter,” Finn said, taking a sheet of paper from the folder before him. He waited until Cal had taken a seat in front of the desk to speak. “She had them drafted weeks before she died and never meant to change them or have them disregarded.”

  Finn seemed mildly annoyed. Cal’s brows drew together.

  “Okay….”

  “And each time we spoke after, she’d bring it up, and how sure she was that you would do the right thing,” Finn said, accentuating do the right thing with an arthritic index finger.

  Was he irritated because of the open window? Cal reached over and shut it.

  “Why did you close the window? It’s stuffy in here,” Finn said.

  “I thought….” Cal waved his hand. “Forget it.” He opened the window back up.

  Finn slid him a look over the top of his glasses and began to read.

  “Caleb, I’m sorry I can’t be there for you like I have been most of your life. I’m sorry there will be no more sweet potato pies coming from my kitchen. It’s your kitchen now. But, have no fear, I’ve given the recipe to Sandra Bellamy, who promised to make them for you at least once a year.”

  Finn smirked. Cal frowned. Did his aunt really think he cared that much about her sweet potato pie? Though it was amazing.

  “I’m also sorry I don’t have a truckload of money to leave you, but with the insurance being what it is, and some other plans I
have, there wasn’t much left over. Maybe I should have died sooner so you could start that business of yours.”

  Finn tapped a nail against the page, then turned it to face Cal. “She puts in here a note, saying, Finn, tell him I’m kidding.”

  Cal acknowledged the poor joke with a quirk of lips.

  “I’ve given you the house, to do with as you see fit,” Finn continued for his departed friend. “I’d love for you to live there and one day raise your children on the land that’s been in our family for generations, but you know me, no pressure.”

  She sure could lay on the guilt. Finn chuckled.

  “And I know you have your heart set on starting your own treehouse building company with the money a sale would bring. I know right now it may seem unfair, but I’m on my way out. In fact, if you’re reading this, I’m already gone, so you can’t argue with me. Keeping that very important fact in mind, I’m going to ask you for a favor. Now, I understand it’s a big favor, believe me I do, and I’m asking you just the same. If you decide to sell, don’t put the house on the market for one year.”

  Cal wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. Finn kept reading.

  “Wear it a while, see how it fits. If, after a solid year you still feel the same, sell it, knock it down, burn it to ash, rent it out to hippies, I won’t care, you’ll have my blessing.”

  Finn paused, probably to see how the news was being digested. Cal wasn’t really sure what to think or feel. There wasn’t much he could say. It was her house, and if that was what she wanted, that’s what he’d do. He’d waited this long to set up shop, so he’d wait it out another year. He was making more than a decent living, and Josh would keep him on as long as he wanted. No rush.

  His fingers tensed around the leather of the chair. It was irrational, but he couldn’t help feeling like a hawk, blind-folded and tethered to his master’s arm. His master’s old, wrinkled arm.

  “There’s more,” Finn said, pushing his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose.

  Cal didn’t have the heart to ask what.

  Finn continued reading. “In the meanwhile, short of selling it, do what you want to it. The same goes for the property, with a minor exception.”

  The pause set Cal’s teeth on edge, sensing the hammer was about to fall.

  “The stand of trees near the pond, and a one hundred-foot perimeter surrounding, are excluded from your immediate possession. I have loaned that parcel of land to Winsome Woodbead for one year.”

  “What? Who is Winsome Woodbead?” Cal asked.

  Finn ignored him. “Like you, she will have one year to decide what she wants to do. If she wishes to stay on, and you’re agreeable to it, you can work something out between the two of you. She is also to be permitted access to her parcel via the driveway, but since that goes directly to the house, you’ll have to pave a road from the driveway to her parcel.”

  “I’ll have to what?” Cal surged to his feet. This was ludicrous.

  Rather than answer that question, Finn waved Cal back into his seat.

  “Now, don’t think I’ve gone off half-cocked. I assure you, Winsome is a special girl. We’ve become fast friends these last seven months and I know you’ll show her the warmth and hospitality you would any friend of mine.”

  He wondered if Aunt Ruth could hear his teeth grinding from heaven.

  “Is this legal?” he asked Finn.

  “Yes, the agreement is legal. Although, you could probably argue that the land was loaned to her under your aunt, and now that she’s deceased, the land is yours, no matter what the letter says. But you don’t really want to dishonor her memory or last wishes like that, do you?”

  No, he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. He couldn’t imagine what had put this loony, inexplicable notion into his aunt’s head, but he didn’t want to argue the point.

  “Do you know this Woodbead?” Cal asked.

  Finn nodded. “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of her company several times. She’s a very bright, very attractive girl.”

  Attractive girl. Cal threw his head back and groaned. There it was. Aunt Ruth’s last-ditch effort to mate him. She didn’t like Dee, never had, but this was too much, even for her. To give a stranger property, even on loan? And not in a far corner of the estate where she could be overlooked or ignored entirely, no, practically dead center, less than five hundred feet from the house.

  “Why haven’t I ever heard of her before now?” Cal demanded.

  “Perhaps if you’d been around mo….”

  Finn dropped the sentence when Cal leveled his eyes at him. He’d been around plenty in the last seven months. Not at the house every day, granted, but he’d seen enough of his aunt to give her more than enough opportunity to mention this friend of hers. As a patron of the arts, she picked up a number of friends, some looking to take advantage of her generosity. No doubt this Woodbead was one of that crowd.

  Cal almost laughed. The arts, was a loose term, and the ones Aunt Ruth supported were unusual to say the least. Two summers ago, she’d sponsored a Bongo on Bikes tour, where twenty middle-aged women rode bicycles down the coast of Maine while playing bongos. Where had she even found twenty women who played bongos?

  Finn directed his attention back to the paper with a wag of his finger.

  “I know this seems odd to you, Caleb, and please don’t blame her. She was very reluctant to agree, but I finally managed to talk her into it. She’s a lovely person, as Finn will tell you, and it just so happens that she is also an entrepreneur. She doesn’t have any family who will be of use or support, and will need your help in starting her candle making shop.”

  “Seriously?” Cal asked, incredulous. “She expects me to help her?”

  Finn looked over the top of his glasses and down the slope of his long, thin nose. “Yes.”

  “How? Where?”

  “If you’ll allow me….” Finn arched his patchy eyebrows and read. “Since you make treehouses….”

  Oh no. Cal already saw where this was heading, was already shaking his head.

  “I want you to build her one using the trees on her parcel. A nice place where she can live, and make her candles. You’ve already told me those trees would be perfect for a treehouse, and had offered to put one up for me, so no backing out using that excuse.”

  Crap. Cal hung his head.

  “I have some money set aside just for this project. It’s not as much as I’d like, but I’m sure you can make it nice. Or if you’d prefer to bow out, hire someone else to do the work. I know you’re very busy. Her one-year loan will begin when she can take up residence, so if I were you, I’d get on that right away.”

  Unreal. This was totally unreal.

  “I know this is a lot to take in, especially while missing me, and I understand if you resist the idea. Just know that I’m thinking of your best interests and also trying to help a friend. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’d like to think I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Caleb, but I doubt God wants us seeing what’s going on down there, so I’m just going to trust that you are the man I think you are and will do the right thing, even if that’s not what I want. You have a good heart and a good head on your shoulders and that balance is part of what’s always made you so special. Love you always, Aunt Ruth.”

  Finn was silent as he set the paper down on the desk, and Cal was glad. It gave him time to wipe the moisture from his eyes and clear his throat. Crazy old broad. A minor exception. That’s what she called a stranger squatting on his land? And using her plot of ground to run a business?

  He caught himself and sat back in the chair, releasing his hands into his lap. He ought to be grateful he had the land at all. And there was nothing he could deny Aunt Ruth in life or now, it seemed, in death. She was closer to him than his own mother, the only person he knew for sure believed in him, trusted him, and truly thought of his welfare. His source of strength and help during the worst times of his life. If only she could be here now.

  Finn watched him co
vertly as he gathered papers, tapped them on the cherry desk top and placed them back in their light blue folder.

  “Here are your copies of the documents and…wishes,” Finn said, handing the folder to Cal, before struggling out of the smooth buff leather chair, and standing.

  Cal stood as well, hesitating before walking to the door. A couple things were nagging at him.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Certainly,” Finn said, coming to face him.

  “You believe Aunt Ruth was in her right mind when she wrote this?” he asked, raising the folder between them. “Like…all there?”

  “Yes, Cal, I know she was. In fact, your aunt was more clear-headed in recent weeks than I’ve seen her in some years. She was happy, hopeful even.”

  “Hopeful of what?” Cal asked.

  “Of seeing you happy. You meant the world to her, you know that. She worried about you.”

  A lump of emotion lodged in Cal’s chest and he nodded and reached for the door knob, but paused again, trying to keep that lump from coloring his voice.

  “Another thing. Why didn’t I see this Winsome Woodhead—”

  “Woodbead,” Finn corrected.

  Cal shook his head. He really didn’t care how it was pronounced. “Was she there? At the funeral?”

  His aunt had a lot of friends. People had flown in from other continents just to say goodbye. It was possible he had missed her.

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  “Why? Someone so close that my aunt leaves her property, and she wasn’t there?”

  Finn reached past Cal and opened the door for him. “There were…extenuating circumstances that you can ask her about when you meet.”

  “And when might that be?” Cal asked, annoyed.

  “Tomorrow morning, eleven o’clock,” Finn answered, definitively, then halted and touched two long fingers to his papery cheek. “Didn’t I tell you? She contacted me just this morning and asked if I would arrange a meeting between the two of you. Slipped my mind, I suppose.”