53 - Last Will & Testament

Life is beautiful.

In this moment, there were no more appropriate words to suit Cassidy’s frame of mind.  Her wish of receiving Jon’s unchecked passion had been granted so spectacularly that she skyrocketed to completion without any of her own "personalized" attention.  While that had happened before with him, it was still a rare enough occasion in her life that she wanted to lie here with the back of her head cradled in a luxurious pillow and simply savor it.

And she did for about thirty more seconds.  Give or take five seconds, it was the length of time it took to become haunted by the blind promise that had been extracted from her.  What had she agreed to?  What could he possibly want so desperately that he had to put her in a lust-fogged state to assure he would get it? 

When she rolled to face the man who lay beside her, it was to find him resting contentedly on his back with eyes closed.  The relaxed set of his features suggested that he was also savoring, and she was reluctant to disrupt the moment of serenity, but Cassidy’s curiosity didn’t share that reservation.

“So what did I just promise you?”

Her question didn’t faze Jon’s serenity in the least.  His forehead remained smooth and untroubled over still-closed eyes.  The only visible change in countenance was the slight upward tip at the corners of his mouth.

“To be my sex slave until I’m too old to get it up.”

“That’ll be a while,” she snorted quietly.  “Considerin’ you have medical assistance for that.”

The subtle smile flattened when Jon opened his eyes to twist and meet her gaze.  “I threw those goddamn things out after the first night and there’s another bottle of pills that’s about to join ‘em.”

She couldn’t imagine he was speaking of his allergy pills and, from her nosy recollection, it left antidepressants as the intended target – the antidepressants that shouldn’t be abruptly discontinued.  In theory, it was absolutely none of her business, but she was a health professional who happened to care about him so Cassidy was making it her business. 

“I would never presume to say you need ‘em or you don’t,” she tactfully took up the cause.  “But you’re supposed to wean yourself off of those things, not just stop takin’ ‘em.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”  Rotating onto his side, Jon propped an elbow against the pillow to cradle his head while talking to her.  “Moving on to more interesting topics – for me, at least.  Your deal with the devil ends with you giving me the coveted details about your identity situation.  I want to know the whole story, from start to finish.”

“Ugghhh!”  Cassidy’s eyes rolled heavenward in disgust.  “I knew you let that go too easy.”

A dark intensity emanated from his eyes and subdued the brilliance of his smile.  “I didn’t want to get into a long argument but I still wanted to know, so I chose a mutually pleasurable approach.”

She lifted both eyebrows in astonishment at the realization he had played her like the fiddle in “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”.  Part of her admired the display of ingenuity, while the rest of her was a little miffed at the manipulation.  Both parts respected the hell out of the man who, by textbook definition of musician/writer/artist, shouldn’t be cunning enough to conceive something of that nature.

“Remember how surprised you were at findin’ out I’m a nurse?  That’s kinda how I feel now.  Your intelligence was never in question, but I underestimated how shrewd you are.”

“Glad I used the element of surprise for something of importance,” he commented with humor, leaning over to plant a swift kiss on her lips before pushing into a seated position and dropping his feet to the floor.  “Get dressed so I’m not too distracted to spot any bullshit you might try and feed me.”

“No bullshit,” she contradicted while reluctantly swinging her legs off the bed.  “I might refuse to tell ya, but I won’t spin yarns about it.”

Shorts settled low on his hips and a bare-chested Jon turned to dispatch a condemning look.  “You’re not gonna refuse me anything.  You gave me your word and I take that shit seriously.”

“I’m not real happy about you twistin’ my arm, but I understand that.”  She slipped out of the white dress shirt and tossed it toward his open bag before removing clean clothes from hers.  “All I’m sayin’ is that I don’t make a habit of deception.”

“Good.”  The previously discarded sleeveless tee slipped over his head and he moved through the doorway while speaking over his shoulder. “I’m gonna use that goofy little pot to make fresh coffee so we’re not interrupted by room service. You’ve got five minutes.”

Five minutes. 

In a way it was a relief to find herself “pinned” in a corner this way.  No longer did she have to wrestle with her conscience over keeping this one last secret from him – the man who knew everything else.  Aside from that, she hoped that sharing the… trickiest piece of this tale would alleviate some of the cumbersome burden she’d been carrying. 

Libby was the only one who knew everything and that wasn’t much help to Cassidy.  Rather than sharing the load with her little sister, she had to manage both the load and Libby’s anxiety over the whole thing.  It might be nice to have someone else on her side. 

Unless he doesn’t believe you.

He would.  Good things happened to good people, and she was a good person. 

But just to be safe… 

Lord, it’s me again.  Sorry to be bothersome this mornin’, but if you could sprinkle some of your blessin’ dust over this deal, I’d be much obliged.  I like him an awful lot and it would hurt my feelin’s somethin’ awful if this ruined our friendship.  In Jesus’s name…

###

Jon had just put her coffee cup on the table when Cassidy joined him in the living room four minutes later.  She still had no makeup, but had put her hair into a ponytail and gotten dressed as he asked.  He noticed that the ruby slippers peeked out from the hem of her jeans, paralleling the red of her t-shirt.  Did those shoes hold any significance?  Was she going to make a break for it, or was she looking for an extra splash of confidence?

Or maybe she just likes the damn things.  She’s said so often enough.

“Thirty seconds to spare,” she announced sassily and perched her heart-shaped bottom on the center cushion of the sofa.  “Thanks for the fresh coffee.” 

“Welcome.”  He plunked himself down beside her with a matching cup of java goodness and crossed his legs.  “Ready to enlighten me?”

The dainty wrinkle of her nose as she swallowed let him know that, no, she wasn’t ready.  She offset that with a determined squaring of her shoulders as she cradled the cup and pivoted on her bottom, pulling a bent leg onto the couch in order to look at him.

“I’m still put out by this,” she informed him.  “But, since I am a woman of my word, I will honor your request.”

Having no interest in delaying this explanation any further, he declined to comment and merely nodded in appreciation of her moral fiber.  He'd expected no less and impatiently waited for her to get this show on the road

“Growing up, I always remember thinking that Uncle Stanley was a nice guy.  I actually believed that all the way up until the day MeMaw passed.  Contrary woman that she could be, my grandmother waited until the last possible minute before leavin’ this earth to inform Uncle Stanley that the gold had been moved and he wasn’t gettin’ it.  She went out of this world with a look of utter peace on her face, but you shoulda seen Uncle Stanley’s.  Lord a’mercy that man flew mad as a hornet and turned-” She snapped her fingers in the air.  “- that quick into a Grade-A asshole.”

“He’d just lost his mother, but he was more worried about what she left behind?” 

Jon couldn’t fathom that.  God forbid that his parents die but, when they did, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be thinking of anything other than the gaping hole his life would have in it.

“I know, right?”  Expressive blue eyes rolled in disgust.  “Libby and I are grief-stricken with tears runnin’ down our faces because we’re distraught over losin’ the center of our world, and her son is blusterin’ around tellin’ us he would get his birthright one way or another.  I told him to stop throwin’ around empty threats and shut his yap to show some respect for the dead, but he went on and on and onnn while I’m wipin’ my eyes so I can see to find the number for the funeral home.”

“Jesus, what a dick.”  There was nothing that stroking her thigh would do to erase idiocy that had transpired months ago, but it made Jon feel better.  

“Libby and I did our best to ignore him until MeMaw was taken care of but, after she’d been taken to the funeral home, Stanley started exceedin’ the limitations of my patience still spoutin’ off that the gold didn’t belong to me and demandin’ to know where it was.  I finally pulled down MeMaw’s shotgun and told him to get the hell out before I blew a hole in him bigger’n the one he was spewin’ nonsense from.  Threats and cussin’ ensued, but he did leave and we didn’t hear from him until the funeral.”

“Please tell me he didn’t start shit at the funeral.”

“Oh no,” she assured him with the shake of her head.  “He’s a big wheel in the community, so he would never embarrass himself like that in public.  Cousin Gerald Ray was tacky enough to allude to it at the visitation, but it was very subtle.  The both of ‘em showed up at MeMaw’s house the next day while we were goin’ through her things.”

“Doesn’t this guy have a wife to rein him in?”

“Unfortunately, no.  Aunt Doreen divorced him when I was a teenager.”

She paused in the telling to sip her coffee and he didn’t rush her, assuming that she was taking the time to either reflect on what happened or find the words to convey it. 

“Anyway, we didn’t have anything as elegant as a readin’ of MeMaw’s will.  Stanley knew the original document was in her safe and he came to the house with Gerald Ray and the sheriff, demandin’ to see it.  I thought it was odd, since he knew good and damn well that the car, property, house and everything in it was to be mine and Libby’s because he had a home that was far grander than hers.  MeMaw’s wishes were that he get whatever cash she had in the bank account, which he also knew, but I gave it to them just the same.” 

Troubled eyes sought his and she quietly stated, “This is where it starts goin’ a little awry and I’d like you to know that I’m not proud of my choices in the heat of the moment.  Please don’t judge me.”

“Hey.”  Jon held out a hand and squeezed hers when she placed it in his palm.  “I have a pretty good idea of who you are, driver’s license notwithstanding.  Your choices were no doubt justified.”

“Not really,” she admitted, bringing their intertwined hands to rest on her knee.  “Anyway, when he flipped over to the signature page of that will, he got the ugliest smirk of contempt on his face.  I swear to goodness, it was with pure evil glee that he informed Libby and me that the will was nullified by a more recent version dated one month earlier – and it named him sole heir and executor.  He flapped that damn thing just close enough for me to see MeMaw’s signature and the lawyer’s – Beauregard Beasley – before orderin’ the sheriff to do his job.  That’s when we got served with a notice to vacate within seventy-two hours and remove nothing from the home but our personal belongings.  All of MeMaw’s things were to stay right there – for him.”

“Sonofabtich.”  She’d previously assured him she wasn’t a murderer.  With that off the table, Jon was thinking that anything she did was beyond this point justified and the vindictive part of his personality hoped she used that shotgun to pop a cap in her uncle’s ass.

“To say I was unhappy would be puttin’ it mildly,” she drawled.  “My request for a closer look at the will was denied and I called him everything but a church-goin’ man.  Libby’s tongue is a bit sharper than mine is, so she called him everything in the book and this time it was her chasin’ all of ‘em off with the shotgun.”

Fucked-up name aside, I think I like her sister.

“Did you get a lawyer of your own and contest the whole thing?”  That bullshit couldn’t be legal.  All they had to do was find the lawyer and prove it, right?

“I told you I regretted my choices.”  The copper ponytail shook repentantly.  “I’d been stayin’ there for a couple of months takin’ care of MeMaw durin’ the last stages of her cancer.  He was throwin’ me out of my current home, takin’ away our childhood home and pilferin’ the home Memaw wanted Libby to have.  I was… furious.”

“Understandable, but what did you do?”

“Sent Libby back to her house and told her to stay there while I packed up all the keepsakes and photos I thought we’d want.   Then I set the alarm for midnight and went to bed, even though I couldn’t sleep for worryin’.  When midnight finally rolled around, I loaded all those mementos into my car while the gold and my personal things went in MeMaw’s.  Then I connected ‘em together with a tow chain.”

Once again, she fixed that pleading look on him and Jon was driven to squeeze the hand still cradled inside his. 

“Go on,” he urged.

She nodded and those pleading eyes became defiant as her chin stuck out to erase all visible signs of shame.  Remorse might still live on the inside, but this bad ass Southern belle was claiming ownership of her actions and he respected the hell out of her for it.

“I set the house on fire and drove out of town, stoppin’ only long enough to get my daily maximum cash allowance at the ATM.  I am in a self-imposed witness protection program, as you call it, because I’m a fugitive wanted for arson and grand theft auto.”