Chapter 15
Zach
“So, Moira has
been doing a good job of helping you acclimate over here?”
Randall asks me as we converse over breakfast. Moira’s not
here, and I’m expecting her absence is because she wants to
give us some alone time.
“She’s a
very patient teacher,” I tell Randall honestly while I push my
eggs around absently on my plate. “She doesn’t push at me
and lets me find my own way most of the time.”
I tell him that last
bit as more of a warning to him that he would do well to know that
about me. You can’t push me to do something I don’t want
to do.
Randall nods at me
in understanding. “I knew she’d be perfect for the job.
Her qualifications are excellent.”
I don’t know
about that… at least not from the perspective of her education
and experience in these matters. I know she makes a fucking fantastic
lover. This was a benefit that I never imagined would have occurred
from my time spent here.
Last night was
unbelievable. The blow job she gave me… mind blowing. Nut
blowing, for sure. If what I experienced is what she feels when I put
my mouth between her legs, then I expect both of us will be doing a
lot of that to each other in the future. In fact, from what I know of
the human body, I’m betting we could do that to each other at
the same time. I’ll have to ask her about that later.
After I was able to
get my breath back, I reached out and stroked my finger down the
middle of her chest while she watched me with languid eyes. Then I
pressed my lips to her forehead and said, “Goodnight.”
I walked back into
my bedroom and closed the door, but not before seeing a moment of
hurt flashing through Moira’s eyes. I’m not sure why she
would look that way, because I feel like what we shared was mutually
satisfying. I’m sure she orgasmed just as powerfully as I did.
As I lay in bed that
night and thought of the way that Moira made me feel, there was a
brief moment where I thought it might be nice to have her lying next
to me in the bed. I had some questions to ask her, and I’m
suspecting it would maybe even be a nice feeling to stroke my fingers
along her skin while we talked. I thought briefly about going back to
her room and asking her if it would be appropriate to lie in bed
beside her so we could talk some more, but then I pushed that out of
my mind. Although there was some appeal to the thought, it also
seemed strange and contrary to my nature. It made me feel slightly
weak and unmanly to consider that.
So I left it alone
and after some time, finally fell asleep.
I woke this morning
with a raging hard-on, and never questioned my actions once by
rolling out of bed and striding right to Moira’s door. I pushed
it open without even knocking, intent on crawling onto her bed and
sinking my cock inside of her, not even caring if she was on her
knees or back at the time.
Absolute
disappointment filled my body when I saw her bed empty. I walked over
to her bathroom and saw it was empty as well. With a sigh of
frustration, I went back to my own bathroom and showered, where I, of
course, polished my own bannister since I couldn’t have Moira,
and made my way down to find Randall in the dining room waiting for
me.
He told me that
Moira borrowed one of his cars to run some errands so that I could
spend some ‘alone’ time with him today. While I knew that
I would have to devote my time with this strange man who I loathed,
but was coming to some acceptance of, I had wanted Moira by my side
when I confronted my past. I know I am a strong man, but for some
reason, I’m feeling anxious now that Moira isn’t here.
“You look just
like your mother,” Randall says, pulling me hard away from my
thoughts of Moira. “I would have recognized you in a crowd of a
thousand as her son.”
I don’t know
what to say to that, so I take a sip of my coffee.
“I want you to
feel free to ask me anything about your parents… about your
former life that you may not be able to remember. I want you to use
this opportunity to help fill in the dark spots in your memory and
regain knowledge of your heritage. But please know this, Zach…
I won’t push you to stay. I want you to… I’m sure
you have that figured out by now, but I won’t pressure you at
all. Now, are there any other assurances I can give you?”
This man… my
godfather, has succeeded once again in causing some of my bitterness
toward him to recede. I nod at him in understanding. “Just so
you know, I have no intention of staying here permanently. My home is
back in Caraica. But I do accept your offer to teach me about my
heritage. And I’m willing to devote some time to it before I go
back. Paraila… my adoptive father, asked me to stay a year.
I’m not sure that’s something I can do, but I will stay
more than just a few days here in Georgia if that offer is still
open.”
“It is
indeed,” Randall says with a smile. “How about after we
finish breakfast we go for a ride, and I’ll take you over to
your house?”
I nod in acceptance
and pick at some of the bacon on my plate. “Moira told me that
my father saved your life once.”
Dabbing at his mouth
with his napkin before setting it back down, Randall pushes his plate
away. “I’m not a religious man. That was totally your
father. But I do believe that God made sure your father was in the
right place at the right time to pluck me from death’s cold
grip.”
I listen in
fascination, as Randall tells me of his hedonistic ways, and how he
flipped his car into a rain-swollen ditch, drunk off his ass one day.
How my father’s face appeared in the window through the murky
water, and Randall even swore he saw a halo around my father’s
head. I had to smile to myself at that image. While my parents were
hardcore Christians, I had fallen away from the teachings over the
years. While Father Gaul still preached to me from his Bible, the
tribe’s spiritualistic followings made more of an impact on me
than the inconsistent visits by Father Gaul.
“I find it
hard to believe that you developed such a close bond with my father
just because he saved your life. You two seem like polar opposites,”
I observe after Randall gets done telling me the story of how they
became friends.
Randall chuckles and
nods his head vigorously in understanding. “You’re right.
In many ways, we had nothing in common. Our religious beliefs, our
political beliefs… all very different. Yet, ironically, your
father and I were able to have these deep conversations about our
differences. Your father never judged me for not having the same
belief systems. In fact, I think that was what made him such a great
missionary… because he understood that people had inherent
beliefs that would not be easy to change. Your father was patient and
kind. He was funny and mischievous. He was an easy man to admire and
respect.”
“I could see
why you would like him. He seemed like a great guy,” I observe.
“And I always remembered him being in a good mood and laughing
a lot. Plus, he saved your life. So, yeah… I get why you liked
him. But I guess I don’t understand why he liked you.”
I know that question
comes off as rude, but I’m still suspicious of this “familial”
type of bond that Randall seems to project.
With warm eyes,
Randall leans back in his chair at the dining room table and rests
his hands on the edge. His voice is quiet when he answers me. “I
asked your father that very same question once because I never quite
understood it myself. And do you know what he told me?”
I shake my head
because I can’t even fathom.
Randall gives me a
smile, his eyes twinkling. “Your dad told me that despite my
excessive ways and hardcore partying, he never once doubted that my
spirit and soul were gentle at its core. He said he recognized that
in me. Of course, I thought your dad was crazy as all get out to say
that to me. I thought he was full of it, and it made me laugh. I
thought he was joking around with me, as he often did. But about
three years later… you were just a baby, and I was actually
babysitting you one night so your parents could go out on a date.
When they came home, they found me sitting on the couch, with you
fast asleep on my chest. Your parents were so quiet… they
tiptoed up to us and leaned over with soft smiles to see you sleeping
there. I don’t know what expression was on my face at that
moment, but your dad gave me a knowing smile and said, ‘See…
what did I tell you, Randall? A gentle spirit at your core’.”
My eyebrows rise in
surprise. “He said the same exact words to you after all those
years?”
“Yes, which
made me realize that your father meant those words with conviction.
It was the first time in my life… ever… that I realized
someone believed in me absolutely. I didn’t think it was
possible for me to admire and love your father more, but from that
moment, your father had my absolute allegiance. I would have died for
him.”
Randall’s
words hit me hard because I realize that this man isn’t just
someone that’s out on a curious lark to get a gander at his
friend’s long-lost son. I think he feels true depth of emotion
and obligation to my father, and he is using this opportunity to
bring me back to my roots as a way to finally pay my father back
after all these years, for not only saving his life, but for
believing in his own humanity that Randall doubted he actually had.
After breakfast,
Randall loads me up in a silver car that he calls an Aston Martin,
which doesn’t mean much to me, and we head out to my parents’
house.
Well, my house now.
The summer sun here
in Georgia is hot, and the air is moist, renewing my longing for back
home. As we drive along, I find my curiosity about this man
increasing.
“Where do you
get all of your wealth from?” I ask him pointedly.
Randall gives a
boisterous laugh. “My great-grandfather started a department
store called Cannon’s back in the twenties. It’s quite
the legacy now. Started out as just a little store in downtown