23. Chapter 23
Chapter twenty-three
Charles
September passes in a blur. Every chance I get, I spirit Kate away from the house on some pretext or other. In October, I sadly drain the waterbed and put it away. No point in letting it become a giant chunk of ice.
On Thursday morning, November 26, I rose early, hoping to be up ahead of most of the household. I find Kate already awake, putting biscuits in the oven. Coffee is brewing.
She wears soft, tan leggings that are molded to her thighs. Over it, she has on a tunic top the same length as her beautiful braid of dark hair. I wait until she is clear of the oven, then gather her into my arms and kiss her.
“I can never get ahead of you,” I say.
“It’s a big day,” Kate says. “Our first time to entertain together.” Then she sighs.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I wish it was more together,” she says. “This is the first time I’ve not had Thanksgiving with my parents and a bunch of aunts and uncles. It’s going to feel weird seeing most of the family over Zoom. ”
I kiss her tenderly. “I’ve got three computers set up, and our tech rigged us extra Internet connections so we should at least be able to see and hear everyone.”
“What if they don’t have as nice a dinner as we do? What if someone needs something?” Kate frets, genuine worry showing on her sweet face.
“I took care of that, sweetheart,” I say, kissing her some more and sliding up her tunic so I can touch her smooth skin. “I checked with James, Manuela, and Grace. I sent Thanksgiving care packages to all our family, as well as to the company employees. It’s not that different from what I do every year.”
Kate leans her forehead against my chest. “I knew you wouldn’t forget anyone. But I just worry, you know? Video isn’t the same as face to face.”
I remember Emily saying, “I just wish I’d hugged and kissed you more when we were together.” I tighten my arms around Kate. She is so incredibly important to me. I hug her close, and kiss her again, long, deep and satisfyingly. Would she stay with me after Cece didn’t need a nanny or home manager? If I ask her to be something more, will she say yes? Heck, I am afraid to come right out and say I love her, even though I sing her ballad to her over and over. If I can’t say that, how can I ask her the other.
I scoop her up and sit her on the edge of the kitchen table.
“What are you doing?” she whispers. “Someone might come in.
“Mmm-humm,” I murmur in her ear, something that I knew drove her wild. “That’s why we have to be fast. Just a good, old-fashioned quicky to get an important day going.”
“Charles! I’m going to serve food on this table.”
“I know,” I say. “It will wash. You don’t have the tablecloth on it yet.” I ease her leggings down until her bare backside is perched on the shining wood .
“Charles!” she protests in a whisper. But she doesn’t wiggle away from me.
That lets me know she’s been missing me as much as I miss her. I don’t dare kneel down in front of her. With my hip acting the way it is, I’ll never be able to stand up in time if someone came in.
I kiss her again, using my hand to caress between her legs, then slipping two fingers into her warmth. She is wet and so ready for me. I haven’t dared take the next step, but she unbuttons my jeans and uses both hands to slide them and my shorts off my hips, leaving me with a pile of pants around my ankles. Not the sexiest pose, but it certainly reveals that I’m standing at attention and ready for business. Then I don’t have time to worry about how I look.
Kate leans forward and is kissing me again, her hands gently stroking my length with just the right touch – firm, but not too hard, not too rough. I forget everything except how close she is to me, how warm, wet, and willing. I’d meant to tease her with the tip of my penis, drawing things out, but she is more than I can resist.
I slip inside her. At her quick intake of breath, I know it feels good for her as well as for me.
She clings to my shoulders, keeping her backside on the table, letting it take her weight while she wraps her legs around me. She feels like heaven, so warm, so sweet, so wet, so hot…suddenly she gasps, shudders, and climaxes, taking me right along with her.
I haven’t quite wilted, so I hold her close, not moving so we won’t come apart. My member starts to recover, and I take a couple of long, slow strokes inside her. She buries her face in the side of my neck to keep from moaning out loud.
A couple of quick strokes, and I am ready to go again. I am lost inside her, lost in the scent of her, the feel of her wet warmth embracing me, her arms around my shoulders, the way she tilts her pelvis to give me more access. I barely stifle the groan as I empty myself again, and she is only seconds behind me.
Kate leans against me, gasping. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she says.
“Me either,” I reply, “But we did. Want to go for a third round?” I’m not sure I can, but I’m willing to try.
Then we hear the clicking of doggie toes on the hallway floor. Gidget is up, and that means that Cece will soon be up.
“Don’t think we have time,” Kate whispers. “Clean wash clothes, second drawer to the right. I think we’d better clean up.”
I get two washcloths, get them wet at the sink. We help each other clean up, barely suppressing giggles. But we manage to get the job done before anyone appears in the kitchen. Kate then goes to the sink and washes her hands. She repeats a handwashing mantra derived from a science fiction book we’d recently read together. “I will not fear . . .” she intones.
I laugh, borrow the soap from her, and recite along with her, ending with “ . . . only we shall remain.” I emphasize the “we”, hoping she will understand. Why is this so hard? Cece would tell me to use my words, but I can’t seem to get them sorted out to say it right. I sneak in another kiss while we still have the kitchen to ourselves.
It doesn’t help that James visits almost every day and often stays late in the evening. He stayed over the previous night, sleeping on the couch, so these stolen moments in the kitchen are all Kate and I could expect.
By the time Cece makes it into the kitchen, Kate is at the stove stirring gravy, while I run chunks of cooked pumpkin through the Cuisinart. I surreptitiously watch the movements of her hips as she moves the spoon around in the pan. Oh, how I wish I could just whisk her out of there and back to the bedroom where I can make love to her properly. I can’t believe we’d been so bold as to do it on the kitchen table! But we had, and I’m feeling exceptionally smug about it.
“Is that my pumpkin?” Cece asks, pulling out a chair and hopping up onto it.
“It sure is,” I say, bringing my mind to things other than what I long to do with Kate. “I think it is soon going to be pie.”
“Yay!” Cece cheers, clapping her hands together. “It was a good pumpkin, and it did its best job.”
“And doing its best is the most we can ask of it,” I say gravely.
“Yep!” Cece says. “Can I help?”
I have visions of small fingers getting chopped, or someone stumbling over a little girl and her pets.
“I’ve got a job for you,” I say. “You are going to be our hostess with the mostest. I’m going to set you up with the big TV screens, and you can greet everyone as they log on. Can you do that?”
“Yep!” Cece says. “I can say hi to everyone!” She settles in at the dining room table with her breakfast, coloring book, and a menagerie of plastic farm animals to keep her company while she waited.
It is not a long wait. Kate’s parents are the first online, then aunts and uncles, Manuela and her family; friends and co-workers connect and are greeted by our pint-sized gate-keeper.
Cece is in her element, entertaining everyone with stories about her pets, the huge pumpkin she and Kate bought at the farmer’s market that got carved into a jack-o-lantern, then made into pies.
I watch James flirt with Grace and wonder if there is some way I can wrangle a few more minutes of private time with Kate. But I know I’m going to have to be content with our stolen moment in the kitchen. On the table! I can’t help but grin to myself. Kate had scrubbed the table down with disinfectant, but if they only knew…but then, they would have to know about Kate and I, and I know she isn’t ready to tell everyone. I wonder what James will say. Would he be angry? Not that I’m going to let it bother me.
I’d made a secret trip into the City and had a special gift made for Kate. I’d gotten her ring size by pocketing a braided grass ring I’d made for her one day when we were playing with Cece. I worry about it from time to time. What will she say? I still haven’t mustered up enough courage to even say “I love you,” to her, even though she is becoming one of the most important people in my life. I bring my attention back to helping with the meal – hopefully before anyone notices me daydreaming.
When everything is cooked, dished, and put on the table, Cece sits on my left, and Kate is on the other side of her. James is on my right, and Grace is next to him. The viewing screens are set up at the foot of the table.
Conversation is generally positive and upbeat, staying away from anything serious.
“I hear they are opening up Silver Dollar City for the holidays, now that quarantine regulations aren’t as stringent,” Grace says, as she surreptitiously sneaks bits of turkey to the cat and dog who are hanging out under the table. “It wouldn’t be as much fun as it is in summer, but it sounds like there are going to be some good shows.”
“Remember when we went there for your high school graduation?” James says, looking at Kate.
“I remember,” she replies. “You shot me with a water cannon and tried to get my horse to run away on the trail ride.”
“Did the horse run?” I ask, hoping to learn more about Kate’s younger years .
“No,” James says, disgust coloring his tones, “Those trail nags are so worn down, they’ve got one gait, and they know the ride better than the guides.”
“I was grateful to the horse,” Kate says. “But it did get James moved up beside the trail guide, who threatened to make him walk back.”
Grace giggles and pokes James in the side.
“Hey,” James protests, “What was that for?”
“For being mean to your sister, of course,” Grace says. “Pass the potatoes, please.”
James obliges by passing the potatoes, and then the gravy. “This is good, Sis,” he says, looking across the table at Kate. “You’ve come a long way since you burned the fried potatoes.”
“I remember that,” her father says from the Zoom display. “It’s why we sent her to college, so she could learn a trade since she can’t cook.”
“Kate has kept us well-fed this year,” I put in. “Her mashed potatoes are even better than Manuela’s.”
“She is an apt cooking pupil,” Manuela puts in from her square on the screen. “And I hear that Miss Cece is learning to cook, too.”
“I made gingerbread men,” Cece says proudly. “I wish I could send you some, Manuela.”
“We made gingerbread men, too,” Manuela says. “So we can perhaps all sit down together to eat them sometime.”
“I like gingerbread,” pipes up one of the Weber cousins.
Grace rolls her eyes. “See what you rescued me from, Kate? I’m so glad you talked Charles into hiring me.”
“You are welcome,” I say, before the conversation can get too far that direction. “Tell me about this amusement park place.”
“Well,” Kate says, “It can be a lot of fun, but it is super expensive. James went as a chaperone, and I got a free pass and some extra tickets for making straight A’s and having perfect attendance.”
“Were you valedictorian?” I ask, imagining Kate behind a podium, wearing a cap and gown.
She shakes her head. “No. That went to one of the other students. I didn’t have enough extra-curricular credits. But I did get a partial scholarship that paid enough that I didn’t have to take out student loans.”
Student loans have never been one of my personal issues, but I’d had classmates who lived in dread of graduation because of the financial burden they had taken on. “Nice,” I say. “But tell me more about this holiday special.”
Grace says, “The water attractions are mostly closed, of course, but there’s a parade on December 7th, plus two live performances — this year they are doing ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and ‘A Christmas Carol.’ According to the website, admission is limited because of social distancing, and, of course, everyone has to be masked. Then there’s the Santa’s Pancakes and PJs Cruise — same story, but you get to visit with Santa Claus, get your picture taken with Rudolph . . .”
“I want to go!” Cece announces. “That sounds like loads and loads of fun! Can we, Daddy? Can we, please?”
“I’ll look into it,” I say. Then I have a terribly diabolical idea. “Since it is Miss Grace’s idea, perhaps she and James can go with you on the Santa Cruise. I think Miss Kate is due a little time off. Is there a decent hotel there?”
“Lodge of the Ozarks might be good,” Kate says. “Or there’s the Hilton. Both are on the strip, which puts them within walking distance of many of the attractions.”
“Manuela?” I asked.
“I’ll look into it, Mr. Charles. That young lady works almost as hard as I do.” And she gives me a wink that lets me know that she is aware that this is not an ordinary employee perk. I never could put one over on Manuela .
The rest of the evening is spent selecting a place to stay, planning out an agenda, and making arrangements for Gidget and Mr. Fluffy — who certainly can not go with us.
Kate manages to steer us away from the sillier ideas, while pointing out things that everyone will enjoy. She is amazing and marvelous and all of a sudden I wish very much that I could find some excuse to take her away from the rest of the household, and . . .
My imagination gets to work on all the possible ways to leave Grace and James in charge of Cece, or to send them on some mysterious errand so that it will be only Kate and I in the house after Cece has gone to bed.
I imagine giving them theater tickets and sending them to watch some inane cartoon movie that would appeal to Cece — not really possible, since most of the movie theaters are still closed. Then I envision giving them the keys to the camper…no, that doesn’t work. The truck belongs to James and his father.
In my mind’s eye, I envision walking down the lane outside the house, holding hands with Kate. The stars will be pinpoints of light in the sky, and the moon will be out…but none of those things will outshine Kate, who will be snuggled next to me, sharing her warmth . . . Oh, how I miss the waterbed and glamping — but it is too cold now.
“Charles? Are you all right?”
“Huh? What?” I let go of my daydream and return to the room.
Kate smiles at me. “Welcome back to earth,” she says. “I asked if you thought a family or company suite would be a good idea? There’s a sizable discount for six bedrooms, which might be overkill. But it will give us plenty of room to spread out if the weather gets bad and we are snowed in. We can even take Gidget and Mr. Fluffy.”
“Sounds great,” I say heartily. Maybe with six bedrooms I can find some way to get Kate alone without attracting too much attention from James, Grace, or Cece. “Book season tickets for everything, including the rooms. We might want to get away again.”
“Are you sure?” Kate frowns at me.
“Certain,” I say magnanimously. “It’s been a tough year for the tourist industry. We’ll be supporting the arts. If we don’t use all the slots, we can send star employees on paid vacations.”
“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Charles,” Manuela says. “When do you want to go?”
“I want to see the parade!” Cece bounces excitedly in her chair. “Can we go then, Daddy? Please!”
“Manuela?” I ask, indirectly.
“Of course, Mr. Charles. Don’t worry about it at all. I’ll talk with Miss Kate about particulars, and we’ll put it all together. You might want two suites, since you’ll need to take your security team.”
“Good thinking,” I approve. “I forgot about them.”
I don’t like having to overtly surround my household with private security, but corporations are under heavy scrutiny. Here at home, where we are surrounded by family and loyal employees, I feel relatively safe. But at an amusement park, some added watching eyes will not be a bad idea at all.
Manuela is a great cook, but she is an outstanding coordinator and dispatcher. She not only speaks English and Spanish, she is also fluent in French and has a working grasp of Japanese. I would never have known any of that if she hadn’t almost accidentally fallen into her current role. I need to give her a title and a salary to match — and it sounds like she and her family needs a Branson vacation, too.
“Thanks, Manuela, you’re the best,” I say. And I mean it. It just should not have taken my wife’s death and a pandemic for me to appreciate her value. What else am I missing?