Faith, Hope, and Destiny
Chapter 9

Copyright© 2016 by Renpet

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9 - How much control do you have over your future? Is it preordained? Can you choose your fate? Sometimes, life blesses you.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Consensual   Romantic   Fiction   First   Oral Sex   Petting   Slow  

On a warm, balmy, and clear April 7th, with the sun beating down, I held Amelia’s hand as Betty’s casket was lowered into the ground next to Harold’s grave. Betty had “taken to bed” six days ago and quietly passed away in her sleep.

Mourners drifted away from the grave as the final service ended. Amelia gripped my hand, hanging on to me. Silent, large tears dripped down her cheeks but she showed no emotion, just smoky eyes full of anguish and something else. I bent and scooped up some soil, handing it to her. She tossed it into the grave and let me gently lead her away.

Amelia was subdued throughout the rest of the day. She obeyed any suggestion I made, ate dinner as if it was a rote chore, and I waited for sorrow to be released. It finally was.

At nine-thirty that night, Amelia came out of her bedroom and settled onto the couch next to me. She curled up at my side making herself small and then whispered.

“Please don’t die, Mike.”

I understood that other emotion I’d seen in her eyes - fear of abandonment.

Wrapping her in my arms, such a frail girl, I assured her I wouldn’t. “You’re stuck with me, honey.” Eventually Amelia cried, some of the poisonous sorrow oozing out of her.

Still, recovery wasn’t fast. I noticed it in her music. Amelia began to play mournful songs on the piano. She sang less and the songs were of loss and sorrow, sung with such sadness and agony I had a lump in my throat. Her remarkable voice expressed such haunting it made me go cold. And even the beauty, the perfect clarity of her voice, couldn’t overcome my fear for her. I was afraid she’d slipped into depression and I’d never hear her laugh again, and that thought both saddened and worried me endlessly.

As her fourteenth birthday approached, I wrestled with what to get her. It couldn’t be music. It had to distract her and bring back her smile. I thought long and hard, and steered every conversation with her into happier memories of being with her mother and father, and finally I found the answer.

On the Saturday morning of Amelia’s fourteenth birthday, I got up extra early. Excitement at the gift I had for her felt good. I smiled. If this didn’t do it, nothing would. As coffee percolated, the front door tubular bells chimed; right on time.

When I opened the door, Peter frowned at me. He reminded me of Tintin, his short, brush-cut red hair moussed into a spike on top in the middle.

“Here!” he stated. “I quit!”

I took the leash from him and smiled at the rambunctious chocolate Lab puppy. “You can’t quit. I need you,” I informed him.

“I’ve picked up enough feces and mopped up enough urine for a lifetime. I hate animals,” he claimed, shaking his leg as the puppy latched onto his pants with his mouth, growling playfully, tail wagging.

“What’s it going to cost me?” I asked.

“Two extra weeks’ vacation,” Peter responded immediately.

“Done.”

I didn’t miss how he bent and ruffled the puppy’s head before leaving. Peter was a real softy wrapped up in gruffness.

“Well,” I said to the dog, “don’t pee on my floor.”

The puppy’s whole body wiggled as his tail moved. He grinned at me, tongue lolling, eyes bright and intelligent. Damn he was cute.

“Hey! Sleepyhead!” I yelled. “Get up. I have a present for you! Amelia! Get up!”

The puppy attacked my toes as I waited. His teeth were quite sharp. “Heel!” I tried. He ignored me.

Amelia walked out of the hallway, somewhat bedraggled, hair now not only rough shorn, but spiky, and wearing wrinkled pastel blue pajamas. It was a magical moment. Life stole into her magnificent eyes, pure delight at the sight of a misbehaving puppy.

“Oh m’God! Oh m’God!” she exclaimed.

The dog, spotting another potential playmate, scrabbled to gain traction on the hardwood floor and launched himself at Amelia, yanking the leash from my hand. Amelia dropped to her knees and welcomed a wriggling, tail wagging, bundle of loving joy. Laughter burst out, making me smile. Finally, finally, Amelia was happy again.

“Happy birthday!”

Shocked, Amelia said, “He’s mine?” and promptly burst into giggles as the puppy washed her face. “What’s his name?”

“Sir Rufus Peealot,” I informed her.

“How come?”

And, as if on cue, Sir Rufus demonstrated by weeing on the floor in his excitement. Amelia laughed with pure delight. “He’s so cute!”

“Maybe you should take him outside,” I suggested.

“Kay! C’mon Rufus!”

After cleaning up the mess, I washed my hands and started breakfast, pausing to sip coffee. I couldn’t stop smiling. In the back garden, Amelia was running around in her pajamas, chased by a stumbling, yipping, excited Rufus, her laughter the sweetest music filling the air.

I’d originally hoped to give Amelia a surprise birthday party with her friends, but talking to Mrs. Sorensen, her headmistress, I’d discovered Amelia had few friends, her hectic schedule with music interfering with interpersonal relations. Instead, I planned a dinner out at Ruby Tuesdays, a fun diner-style restaurant.

 
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