Chapter 54: Making Amends

Mrs. Ford called on Saturday evening. "Don't come to my house tomorrow night. You're not welcome here, ever again."

The softness in her voice that I had grown so fond of was missing. Somehow I knew that her anger had something to do with Josh witnessing me eating Colleen's pussy in the cottage.

"I got into a little trouble when I was fourteen," I said, falling back on the old chestnut that had proven so successful in the past. Women had a soft spot for tales of misfortune and mine was a good one, I thought, but not Mrs. Ford.

"My son is not to associate with you. You are not to go near him. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, still thinking there was a possibility that she would invite me to her home. I had been looking forward to going to her house. Josh was to be with his grandparents for the entire weekend. The sound of the dial tone told me that it was not to be.

I spent the next three days alone with my thoughts, wondering why I had let it happen. It was the Fourth of July and the neighborhood was in holiday mode. Everyone I knew was away or spending their time with their family. I had plenty of time to think. Saturday night was the worst.

When it first came to light that Josh had told his mother about what he had seen Colleen and I do in the cottage I thought Mrs. Ford would reconsider. I even expected for her to call again that night and invite me to come to her home. All day on Sunday I thought that she still might call and offer to talk about it, to hear my side. After all, she was alone and it would have been a good time for her to hear me out with Josh away at his grandparent's home. When no call came from her I began to rationalize about what I had done. Nothing had been said about the inclusion of sex education in Josh's training program but it had not been excluded either. If Mrs. Ford didn't want Josh to learn about sex she should have told me. The kid was thirteen years old; there were things he needed to know. I was charged with the responsibility to toughen him up in order to make his first weeks at C.M.A. as painless as possible. What better fortification could he have than some knowledge about sex? Actual experience would have been better but knowledge was good too. I spent most of Sunday and Monday blaming Mrs. Ford for not making it clear as to what she wanted me to teach Josh and what she didn't.

What if I had not believed her when she told me that I was not welcome in her home, ever again? What if I had gone there anyway? I pictured the scene, me talking to her through the closed door. I played it in my mind. Mrs. Ford would tell me to go away. I would plead for her to let me in. She would accuse me of doing disgusting things and using lewd language in front of her son. I would tell her that I could smell her scent through the door. She would disbelieve me but listen anyway. I would tell her that I was sorry and promise to never do it again. She would say that she didn't trust me. I would ask her if she trusted me to make her feel good. Mrs. Ford would open the door. I would take her in my arms and ask her if I could call her Patricia. She would say, "NO, GET OUT!"

When I went for my run on Tuesday morning Josh was not there. I had to explain to Orville that I had done something to piss off Mrs. Ford and I didn't know if Josh would be back to train with me. He didn't probe me about what happened. That's what I liked about Orville. He let me run in silence and ponder my misgivings. Up until the point that Josh didn't show up I had thought it would all blow over, that Mrs. Ford would reconsider, let Josh train with me. But now it was sinking in. What I had let happen had destroyed my relationship with two people, Mrs. Ford and her son, both of whom had put more faith in me than I deserved. By doing a good deed for an old friend I had lost two new ones.

It occurred to me that perhaps I had been blaming the wrong person. By the time we left for work I was feeling disgusted with myself. I had been the instigator. I was the one who had let Josh watch. Why had I taken it upon myself to indoctrinate him in the sounds and smells during a female's orgasm? Would that experience help to toughen him up? Was it something he could draw upon during those first dark nights in the upper bunk when the only sounds he heard were his roommate crying himself to sleep?

I knew that I had been wrong. I didn't blame Josh for telling his mother what happened although I did hope that he had not told her the specifics of my conversation with Colleen, that she wanted me to fuck her only not with Josh there.

I was to blame for what happened. At least I had not blamed Colleen. She had wanted me to send Josh home. Why hadn't I respected her wishes? Instead, I had humiliated her by letting him stay and watch. I was to blame and I would have to own up to it. Perhaps an apology was in order? But would it do any good? I decided that it would. Even if an apology did not mend the riff between Mrs. Ford and me it would help to ease my conscience.

Going to work on Tuesday morning was a welcome change. I viewed it as a break from my weekend of torture, although I guess I didn't hide my feelings very well.

Stephanie did her best to cheer me up. "What's wrong? Did your girlfriend make you sleep on the floor? Oh, I forgot, your girlfriend is six hundred miles away. What you need is a girlfriend who lives closer," she said, moving her chair up close to mine.

Miss McGomery warned her to keep her distance so I could do my work but Stephanie's memory was short. It was not long before her chair bumped into mine again and I felt her leg rub me. In the four hours that we shared her workspace I learned that she was twenty-three and worked part time as an exotic dancer. I didn't know what an exotic dancer was but when I expressed interest in learning about that style of dancing she informed me that she had a 1980 Ford Thunderbird and would be glad to pick me up if I would give her directions to the Oldham home. I reminded her that I was only sixteen, probably too young to be admitted to the places where she danced. "Oh, I know that. I'll take you to my apartment," she offered.

Aaron's words, 'I don't shit where I eat, ' came to mind. "I'm not permitted to leave the compound where I live," I lied. I don't know why I referred to the Oldham home as a compound and I had never been restricted to quarters. Stephanie must have seen through me.

"Sammy, if you think that girl back home is sitting at home every night you're sadly mistaken. I know you're only sixteen but that's not too young to find out what makes a girl tick, if you know what I mean."

"Thanks for the offer, Stephanie, but I've decided to save myself until I meet Miss Right."

"You poor boy. You don't know what you're missing. I want you to know that I tick really good."

"I'm sure you do," I said.

As I was leaving for the day I heard Stephanie muttering under her breath, "Tick, tick, tick."

Suzanne said she wasn't up to golf that day. Instead, we went to her apartment for lunch. She called the club to cancel our tee-time, and then told me to set up our lunch on the balcony. I carried the salads from the refrigerator, arranged the dishes and silverware on the table while she changed clothes. In addition to crabmeat salad there were dainty rolls and a pasta salad.

"Take that ridiculous tie off," Suzanne said when she joined me on the balcony. And then seeing that I had forgotten napkins and something to drink with our meal, she disappeared to the kitchen while I removed my tie. When she came back she had two glasses, a bottle of wine and a Coke for me.

"Did you speak to your mother about the adoption?" She asked as soon as we were settled.

"Is this the approach to the eighth green?" I asked, looking around the balcony.

Suzanne smiled like she knew what I was referring to. Our two previous conversations about the adoption had taken place in the middle of the fairway. She looked around at our surroundings. "Take your time, Sammy. There's no one wanting to play through."

I smiled back at her. It was good to be with someone who understood me, someone who knew that I was stalling and was willing to be patient while I collected my thoughts.

"I knew you would ask that," I said, unfolding the copy of the letter that I had sent to my mother. "She will probably get it today," I added.

Suzanne read the letter, twice I think, nodded thoughtfully and looked at me.

"What does that thing you're writing about look like?' She asked.

"A burr is usually oval shaped, about an inch long and a half inch in diameter. It has needles that remind you of a porcupine, really sharp," I said. She seemed to be able to picture the cocklebur.

"Have you considered what you will say to her if she turns you down? I don't see how she could say no to this letter but you should be prepared in case she refuses to consent to the adoption."

"I think I know her well enough to know what she will do. She'll read the letter a dozen times and change her mind again and again. That's why I have to give her time to make her decision. I'm going to wait until Saturday afternoon to call her. That way she will be rested and have had plenty of time to think of all the questions she wants to ask me."

"What do you think she will ask?"

"I think she'll want to know how often she'll see me. I'm going to promise to come home once each year," I said.

This seemed to meet Suzanne's approval. "Can I show this to John? He'll be so proud of you." She asked, folding the letter.

"Sure, I wrote it on your computer at the house. It's saved on the hard drive."

We watched the pool below. There were a few people lounging around but no one was in the pool. It was a nice warm day and I enjoyed being there with Suzanne. Of course I had to upset the relaxed mood we were in.

"This is nice but I don't see why you live here when you could move in with us and save the expense," I said.

Suzanne remained quiet for some time, possibly a minute, before she looked at me. "That's sweet of you but you don't really mean it."

"Of course I mean it," I said, confused by her accusation that I would say something that I didn't mean.

"Aren't you glad to see me leave on Monday mornings?" She asked.

"I never thought about it," I said. It was the truth.

"John thinks I'm too controlling," she said, like she was confessing her deepest secret.

"That's true," I said and had to defend against being struck by two flying fists.

I don't know what made me tell Suzanne about how I had alienated Mrs. Ford to the point that she had banned me from her home and from all contact with her son. Perhaps it was because I had to talk to someone about what had happened. Perhaps it was because I trusted Suzanne. But I found myself telling the forty-two old woman how I had permitted Josh to be present while I brought a pregnant woman to climax. I explained how I had first blamed Mrs. Ford for becoming overly agitated about what I considered to be a trivial matter, how I had rationalized that seeing a female experience an orgasm was a good thing for a thirteen year old boy to witness. I told her how I had come to realize that I was to blame for letting him stay when Colleen was clearly uncomfortable with his being there. I told her that I had decided to admit my mistake and to apologize to Mrs. Ford, hoping that she would permit Josh to resume training with me.

Suzanne listened without interrupting me. She got up, loaded me down with plates, utensils and glasses and told me to follow her to the kitchen. We cleaned the table and put everything away. We were in her car, driving me home before she spoke.

"Do you want me to speak with her?" She asked.

"NO!" I blurted out. Why did grownups always think you were asking for their help? "That wasn't the reason I told you. I just wanted to talk to someone about it," I said, without admitting that she was the only one I wanted to talk to because she was the one I trusted most.

In truth, I didn't want Suzanne speaking with Mrs. Ford because I had withheld certain things that I was sure would be used to incriminate me if there was a meeting between them. I was fairly certain that Mrs. Ford would not reveal how close we had come to being intimate but she would charge me with using lewd language in front of her son. Since I had avoided telling Suzanne about my boast to Josh, "She wants me to fuck her but not in front of you. Sorry," it would catch her off guard and give Mrs. Ford the edge. If Suzanne insisted on speaking with Mrs. Ford, it would be necessary for me to brief Suzanne about my lewd language and that was something I did not want to do.

"Just remember, she's the one that came to you about toughening up her son. If she doesn't approve of your methods, fuck her," Suzanne said, making me choke on air that I suddenly needed to fill my lungs.

As far as Suzanne was concerned, my blunder was a dead issue, forgotten. But I couldn't forget it. I had become too fond of the time I spent with Josh. Gazing upon his mother's softness had been enjoyable too. I would miss them both.

Suzanne stayed the night. I excused myself after dinner, explaining that I wanted to catch up on my reading. I knew that Suzanne wanted to show Mr. Oldham the letter to my mother. I didn't think she would say anything about the difficulty I was in with Mrs. Ford but I didn't want to be there if she happened to mention it. There was too much risk that Mr. Oldham would ask the probing question, "Did you fuck the pregnant woman?"