by Diana Tobin
KISSING COUSINS
Diana Tobin
Kissing Cousins by Diana Tobin
Copyright© 2015 Diana Tobin
Cover Design Livia Reasoner
Fire Star Press
www.firestarpress.com
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
DEDICATION
To all my Webster relatives, past, present, and future.
The circle of life, love, and family. That’s the Webster clan.
CHAPTER ONE
Augusta Thompson kept her most treasured belongings in the trunk of her car. Her scrapbooks and boxes of photos; a string of pearls once belonging to her mother, and a macaroni necklace made by her daughter; a blanket she’d crocheted when pregnant and had wrapped around baby Hope. A few precious books by her favorite authors; Nora Roberts, when she wanted to read about true love—however fictional, and Janet Evanovich when she needed to be reminded there was humor in the world. A small collection of Junie B. Jones books she and Hope had read, and laughed over, together.
What took up most of the trunk space in her fifteen-year-old Dodge Neon were skeins of yarn, pattern books, notebooks holding more patterns and ideas, and a variety of knitting needles and crochet hooks.
Logically, keeping her most prized possessions in a vehicle might not be the best idea, but Augusta, better known as Gus, had lost much to someone she was supposed to be able to trust and in places supposedly safe. Plus, her car had become her home. It was old enough, with various dings and dents, that no one would deem it worthy of stealing.
Today Gus packed the last few items as she wondered how long it would take her to drive from Portland, Oregon to Portland, Maine. One saw the end of what she loved best and held most dear, the other, hopefully, would help her find a way to go on living.
Armed with numerous maps to help her find her way across the country, she placed the last item in the trunk. A small ornately carved box holding the ashes of her beloved eight-year-old daughter, Hope.
♥•♥•♥
Despite driving across the United States, Gus saw little of the country. She focused only on the paved interstate ahead, driving until she was too weary to continue. Then, she would find a motel for the night, and fall into an exhausted sleep before rising early to start again. Some nights, she simply pulled into a rest area or a truck stop and slept in her car.
She gave little to no thought to the weather, only vaguely noticing how hot it was. That was to be expected for the month of August, even driving through the northern states. She had hit a storm in Iowa and the radio had warned of a possible tornado. Gus, thankfully, never saw a twister and made it to Cleveland, Ohio where she transferred to the I-90 without mishap.
She supposed it would’ve been hotter, still, had she gone the southern route, taking I-40; but going south from Portland would’ve added another eleven hundred miles to her journey. So far, her car had traveled with no problems. Perhaps her angel, Hope, was watching out for her, making sure Gus found her way to Maine.
Hope would’ve enjoyed this trip. They had talked about it some, and what they would see on the way. Yellowstone Park with Old Faithful Geyser; the huge, colorful boots in Cheyenne, Wyoming; maybe the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, even though Hope wouldn’t know many of those honored. They’d talked about stopping in Philadelphia to see the Liberty Bell, and going through New York to see the Statue of Liberty. They talked about exploring Maine and learning to eat lobster.
Maybe by the time she got to Maine, Gus would be willing to explore her new home state, but she couldn’t bring herself to do any of the things they had planned along the way.
She was still trying to convince herself she could go on living without Hope.
♥•♥•♥
Dusk had fallen by the time Gus reached Portland, Maine. She should have stopped back in Boston, or even New Hampshire, but she’d been so close to the end of her journey she had pushed on.
Too bad she couldn’t get into her house tonight, but the attorney’s office was closed and she’d have to wait for morning. She pulled into the parking lot of the Lighthouse Inn, a small, worn motel she felt she could afford.
Gus would have slept in her car, but wanted to be able to shower before meeting with the attorney. Sleeping in her car was nothing new—she’d done it many times before. Never with Hope, thank God. The last few weeks, she’d slept in a chair next to Hope’s hospital bed. When the nurses shooed her out for fresh air, Gus just slept in her car in the hospital parking lot.
Four months earlier, Gus had to give up the small apartment she and Hope had called home. She’d sold everything that wouldn’t fit into her car, and anything else that would help pay the medical bills. She would be paying medical bills the rest of her life, and wouldn’t care—if something had just worked to keep her baby alive and well.
She’d come to Maine because she had nowhere else to go. The irony was she’d come across the country because of an inheritance from a woman she never knew existed; her grandmother.
It still amazed her that the attorney had been able to locate her at Hope’s hospital. She’d had to call collect once she received the letter, sure there had been a mistake. She was even more convinced John Gates, attorney at law, had the wrong person when he told her Emma Biddle, her grandmother, had named Gus in her will.
Gus didn’t have a grandmother. She had no family, other than Hope. Gus’s parents had died just after Hope’s first birthday and neither had ever spoken of other family. And, once the divorce was final, Gus didn’t consider her ex-husband family. Steve Payne had barely considered his wife and child family when they’d been legally bound.
Mr. Gates had asked Gus a number of questions, proving he knew more about her mother than Gus did. He’d faxed a copy of her grandmother’s will to the hospital and told her to call him, again collect, when she’d had time to read over the paperwork.
She’d read what was sent to her—sort of. Her daily life revolved around Hope and her treatments. Gus was convinced the inheritance was a mistake, and that Mr. Gates would call to notify her they had the wrong person. After all, wouldn’t her mother have told Gus if they’d had family?
Gus had called John Gates to explain the situation with Hope. There was no way she could move to Maine until Hope’s condition improved; then, they would be glad to make the journey. She wanted nothing more than a new life for her little girl.
But, it was not to be. Hope’s condition never improved; in fact, she got worse…and Gus tried to pretend her baby girl wasn’t slipping away day by day, minute by minute.
Hope accepted the truth before her mother. Hope talked about the gift Gus had been given. She wanted her mother to experience it all for both of them.
Gus had gone to the local auto club and gotten books and maps of Maine. Together, she and Hope had pored over the information, making plans for what they would do and see. Gus insisted they would be doing it together, even though, in her heart, she knew she would have to go without Hope.
So, now, here she was in Maine, and about to move into her new home alone.
She couldn’t remember the name of the town where the house was located, but was sure it must be a suburb of Portland. Why else would she have to come here to meet Mr. Gates?
Once she acquired a room in the motel, she took in her suitcase and looked about where she would spend the night. The room was worn, the carpet threadbare, but clean. Satisfied it would do for
the night, she returned to her car to find a place for a meal.
After eating at a local diner, Gus returned to the motel, and as she had done each night on her journey, she removed the box holding Hope’s ashes. Inside the motel room, she placed the box on the nightstand so she could sleep next to her daughter.
CHAPTER TWO
“I have to what?” exclaimed Augusta. She was sitting in the office of John Gates, her long lost, unheard of, grandmother’s attorney. “What do you mean I have to ‘share the house’?”
John Gates was in his fifties, with gray streaking his dark hair. He was sitting behind his desk, frowning at his newest client. “Ms. Thompson, did you not read the papers I sent you?”
Gus felt her face flush and dropped her gaze as she moved her shoulders. “Some,” she admitted. She glanced up to see the attorney’s disapproving stare. “I had more pressing matters at the time. My daughter,” she choked a bit and had to stop to draw a calming breath. “I was sure you had made a mistake, and would be calling any moment to let me know of the error. Meanwhile, it gave Hope something fun to think about and plan.”
“Are you normally the subject of hoaxes?” Mr. Gates asked quietly.
“No,” Gus answered just as quietly. Hoaxes, no, but she’d been the butt of innumerable bad jokes, plenty of sarcasm, and false promises. “I’ve never heard of Emma Biddle. My mother would never speak of her family. In fact, she led me to believe she had none but my father and me. She refused to tell me the names of her parents. I never even saw her birth certificate.”
“Yes, well.” Mr. Gates folded his hands on his desk, his features softening a bit. “I can’t fill in many of the blanks for you, I’m afraid. Emma told me her daughter, Julia, turned her back on the family years ago and refused contact with any of them. Emma knew Julia had married Gregory Thompson, your father, when she was twenty-four. After that, she had no idea where your mother was, if she was still alive, or if she had any children.”
“Then how did you find me? Are you even sure this Emma was my grandmother?”
Mr. Gates nearly smiled. “You returned the DNA test I sent to you, so I can assure you, Emma Biddle was your grandmother. She had her own DNA test done so if, and when, I found her heirs we could be sure they were truly family.” He shuffled some papers on his neat desk. “As for finding you, I had to hire a private investigator. I believe the newspaper notice of your parents’ accident is what helped him locate you.”
“Oh,” Gus said. Seven years ago, her parents had come to southern Oregon to celebrate Hope’s first birthday. Even then, her father had quietly urged her to end her marriage to Steve Payne, telling Gus she deserved better. But Gus didn’t want to break up her family, small as it was, and kept hoping her father and Steve would learn to get along.
Any chance of that ended while her parents made the long drive back to Spokane, Washington. Making their way home through eastern Oregon, their car was involved in an accident. By the time authorities and the paramedics made it to the scene, both her mother and father had died, leaving Augusta an orphan.
Also, leaving her to plan a dual funeral, and care for her year-old daughter, all with no help from a husband who couldn’t be bothered to even attend the ceremony laying his in-laws to rest.
“So, there’s no mistaking that Emma Biddle was my grandmother?”
“No,” John Gates reaffirmed. “You have no other family?” he asked gently.
Gus shook her head. “My father went into foster care when he was five. If he had any family, he didn’t know of them, and they never came forward when he was a ward of the state. He grew up near Boston.” She stared at the papers on the desk. “After he met my mother, they moved west, settling in Talent, a small town in Oregon just over the California border. Nearly twenty years later, Dad had a job opportunity in Spokane and they knew that’s where they wanted to retire, so they moved.” She shifted in her seat, “I, um, got married the next year and lived in Medford until three years ago.” Gus glanced up at the attorney. “But you probably know all this?”
Mr. Gates nodded slightly. “Some, but I prefer hearing it from you.” He waited a moment before saying, “You took back your maiden name after your divorce.”
“Yes,” she stated. “I wanted nothing from the man I married. He only gave me one good thing, and that was Hope. If I could have changed her name, I would have.”
“You could have changed your daughter’s name. Why didn’t you?” he asked in his quiet voice.
Augusta drew herself up stiffening her spine. “Money,” she said flatly. “You should know, if you had me investigated. What else do you know about me?”
John Gates sighed. “Finding Emma Biddle’s grandchild, if there was one, was only part of my job. Maybe that was all I legally had to do, but for my own peace of mind I also needed to know what sort of person you were. From what my investigator had been able to determine, you had no money, a car he was surprised made the three thousand-mile journey, and huge medical bills for a child who…had passed away.” He hesitated a moment and then went on. “You felt it was more important to spend that money on something else?”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back as she gripped her hands together. “Such as a medical treatment? Yes, I felt that was more important than some name my daughter was tagged with.”
Mr. Gates nodded solemnly. “I am sorry for your loss.”
Gus couldn’t answer. She placed a hand over her trembling lips and fought back the sobs that wanted release.
“You’ll be wanting to be on your way. It will take over an hour to drive to Webster.”
“Webster?” Gus said faintly.
“Where your new home is located,” Gates said, with a touch of exasperation. “Did you read any of the papers I sent you?”
“I’m not a moron!” Gus snapped.
The attorney sat back as if she had slapped him. “Ms. Thompson, I never said you were.”
“You don’t need to imply it, either,” she said, before he could continue. Mr. Gates had no idea he’d just stepped on boggy ground, and Gus wasn’t about to explain. She knew she should have gone over the papers with a fine toothed comb, but she was more concerned about the next treatment Hope would receive and what could be expected from it. She’d had no time for a dream that wouldn’t come true. “My daughter’s health was very precarious at that time. I saw there was a house here in Maine, but knew I would have to wait…before making the trip. As I stated before, I felt sure a mistake had been made, so I didn’t dwell on details I felt would prove fruitless.”
Gus was hanging on by a thread after the loss of her daughter. Hopefully, getting settled into her grandmother’s home would help her deal with that loss and the many changes her life had taken.
“We’ve dealt with the fact there is no mistake as far as you being Emma Biddle’s grandchild and heir,” Mr. Gates said in a steady voice. “The house is located in the small town of Webster, on Great Pond in the Belgrade Lakes region. A lovely spot,” he added. “Perhaps a bit like the town of Talent, where you grew up? You must live in the house for one year, never spending more than one consecutive night at any other location.
“At the end of the year, you and Mr. Webster will own the house outright, along with a sizable sum of money, and may do as you wish with the property at that time.”
“Who is this Mr. Webster?” Gus asked, with a touch of suspicion.
“Charles Webster. He was your grandmother’s companion the past few years.”
“Was the town named for him?”
John Gates cleared his throat. “I believe a member of his family first settled the town and retains the family name.”
Gus nodded her head as she thought about her housemate for the next year. If he’d been her grandmother’s companion – was that the attorney’s way of saying boyfriend? – Charles Webster must be around the same age as Emma. “How old was my, uh, Emma, when she died?”
“Only eighty-two,” Mr. Gates said with a smal
l smile. “She broke her hip and complications set in, causing her death.”
Okay, she could live with Grandpa Webster for a year. “What happens if one of us dies before the year is out?”
“The survivor inherits all, unless either of you have children before the year is up. Then the survivor and/or children of the deceased party would share.” Mr. Gates cleared his throat. “I know you just lost your daughter, but you aren’t by chance pregnant, are you?”
Gus couldn’t contain the laugh. “Only if you’re expecting the second Immaculate Conception.” She hadn’t had sex in so long she’d probably forgotten how. Come to think of it, sex was all she’d ever had with Steve, and none of that had been very good. She’d certainly never experienced the thrilling passion she’d read about in books.
“No, Mr. Gates, I’m not pregnant, nor do I expect to be again. Does Mr. Webster have children?”
“Not at this time, but you never know what will happen during the year,” said the attorney.
Wow, thought Gus. She figured John Gates could still have children, but did he really think old man Webster could at his age? Then, she thought about the time span he’d mentioned. A year ago, she’d been sure Hope would be in remission by this time. “No, you never know what will happen during a year,” she said quietly.
Her stomach knotted in panic. “When does this year start? For the inheritance, I mean.” Was she too late? “Has the time started and I’m too late, since I couldn’t travel until now?”
“The time starts as soon as you and Mr. Webster arrive at the property,” he assured her. “Since Mr. Webster has been living there these past few months, the allotted time begins when you arrive. I would appreciate a call from both you and Mr. Webster upon your arrival. Just to make it official, and so you both are in agreement. Then, we’ll begin the clock, so to speak.”