Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "wanting"

I released Babet’s hand and got to my feet anticipating Estella’s entry. I had successfully comforted Babet without baring the monster. But her scent; so captivating to me, it takes quite the restraint to keep him at bay. It radiates off of her like lamplight in the dark. I am the careless moth to her flame.

Estella stood impatiently in the doorway, she had changed from her Morte’ cat-suit to a lime green cotton sundress and tan sandals.

“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” She says her hand on her hip.

“When did you call?” I asked.

“Uh, just now?!”

“Sorry, Henri is asleep.” I reply with bad attitude.

Estella crouched and grabbed her mouth, “I’m sorry honey that will take some getting used to.” She says to Babet who forgives her aunt instantly.

“It’s okay, he sleeps like a rock. He plays hard and he sleeps hard.” Babet is still in quiet mode.

“Are you okay?” Estella says rushing to Babet’s side nearly knocking me down to get to her. Estella sits down like a stone and brushed the stray hairs off of Babet’s face. “I ask, because Cian can be a little stiff.” Estella said in jest. I smiled at the two beautiful women, taking the joke.

“No…He’s…Cian has been great.” She looked over to me and then back to Estella. I take in the chimes of her voice as she says my name, it is ecstasy. “We were just talking.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Estella, ever the gossip queen.

Estella observed our exchange of glances and instructed the young woman that it was late and asked if she had eaten and if she wanted anything. Babet is gracious and smart; she takes the hint and makes her way upstairs to check on sleeping Henri. Once Babet is out of sight, Estella swats me with the back of her hand. I look down at my arm and then to Estella. She is smiling her bright gleaming smile. For a moment I thought Estella was angry but her smile indicates that she is impressed with Babet and her demeanor.

“Pleased, I take it?”

“Of course. You can go now.” She says folding her arms under her breasts.

“I will as soon as I say good bye to Babet.” The ‘T’ I absentmindedly accentuate.

Estella turns to me at the sound, “Do I need to check her for marks Cian?” she jests but I am not amused.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” My tone is instantly angry.

“Lighten up, it was a joke.” She rolls her eyes at me.

I hear Babet descending the staircase; she is smiling when she rounds the corner to the long drawing room. Estella and I are carefully watching her until she notices and explains her happiness.
“Henri is dreaming; it must be a good one because he was giggling in his sleep.”

“Aw, so cute!” Estella should have been a mother; she clasps her hands together and looks so thoughtful at the notion of a giggling sleeping baby. If only she were always this sweet and agreeable.

“I’m off then.” I say to Estella and then glance over to Babet, “So I will see you at Audubon tomorrow night?”

Babet is silent but nods her head to agree to her whereabouts.

“Until then,” I bow my head to Babet and then turn back to Estella, “Call me if you need.”

“You, going home?”

“Aye, I’m looking forward to my own familiarity. Goodnight ladies.”

I make my way through the house and out the front door, taking one last look at the palatial Garden District home once I am through the wrought iron gate. Wish I had gotten the tour. I smirk to myself.
I reach my haven and mindlessly make it to the fifth floor. I am too engrossed in the night’s events, conversation and revelations about Babet Benoit to pay close attention to my surroundings. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and raised as a proper southern lady until the mysterious disappearance/death of her father. Her mother painstakingly maintained their position in society, regardless of her daughter’s reluctance and suffering at the hands of her peers.
She escapes out of state after high school to avoid further social misery in her life only to return with child and boyfriend in tow. She’s an extraordinarily strong independent woman who is philanthropic and reflective, a loving mother. There is more, I know, so much more to her and I divulged more than I should. I know it is the first baby steps to a trusting relationship with Babet and hopefully in time and over time, her children; their children and their children’s children.

I vow after tonight to devote my life the remainder of my existence to this cause, to her. Finally, a worthy cause has reached me once more. Father I hope you can again be proud of me. Although as I lay in day-stasis I can’t help but think of her dreams and my visions and if the two are the same, the monster is all assuming and pretty fucking pleased with himself and a certain, almost human side of me is also pleased.

The following evening I arrive at Audubon and instantly I see Babet’s car and bright lights from the front of the townhouse. I hear music, a much harder genre of music than the previous night. I stand outside placing the song. I recognize the lead singer and deduce it to be Korn, who often use bagpipes in their songs. An aspect of their band I truly enjoy but this song particularly is unfamiliar to my ears. I approach the door, which had of course been replaced, and knock hard enough to penetrate the music. I see Babet approach the door, unlock it and pull it open to allow me entry.

“Hi.” She says as I pass her, she closes the door behind me. She’s wearing a baby blue sundress; her hair is wavy and flowing down her back, she smells exquisite. I look down and see her signature bare feet.

“You look nice; did Estella finally show you the clothes?” I ask.

“Thanks, yeah she went a little overboard and I told her so but she wouldn’t hear it. Scarlet really liked the pieces for her and Henri’s little wardrobe is uber cute.” She directs my attention to the little boy playing with cars on the living room floor who squeals in delight as the cars crash into each other.

“Wow, he’s…” I walk toward the living room as it’s the first time I have been in Henri’s presence while he is awake; truly awake. I lean against the door frame and watch him coo and cackle.
“He’s a handsome one, for sure and a spry wee bearn.” I look over at Babet who is having difficulty with my terminology.

“Spry wee bearn? Translate please.”

“Happy Little Baby.” I retort.

“Ah, that he is. A very happy boy. I’m glad he is oblivious to all of this, it’s a shame Scarlet’s not.”

“How is she?” I ask.

“Fine, she’s upstairs. She really likes her room here.”

“I’m glad; I hope to spend more time with her also. I would like to get her take on all of this. Is that wise?” Since I haven’t had much time with a teenager, not since Maggie was young; my sister the handful.

“You may ask, but, don’t expect her replies to hold any merit, she’s a teenager. At most you will get major sarcasm or nothing at all. You may have better result with Henri here.”

“He must favor his father; I don’t see much of you in there. Maybe the chin?”

“Yes, he is Grif’s boy for sure. Looks just like his daddy, especially his big blue eyes.” I look over and feel her internally cherishing the tiny boy, she then looks up at me, “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you.” I say my tone is sarcastically appreciative.

“Of, course, I apologize, it’s something that will take some getting used to.” I recall Estella’s exact words last night regarding sleeping baby Henri.
“Do you mind?” I turn to Babet.

“Hmm?”

“Sit with Henri?”

“Sure, be careful though, sometimes he is less than receptive to new people.” She says over the granite bar into the living room.

I slowly approach Henri, kneeling down to the floor. He immediately looks up at me then to his mother who is busy in the kitchen. He is watching me closely. I feel tension rise in the baby and must squelch it before Babet notices.
“Do you have a car?” I say sweetly to the boy.

“Ca-h!” He responds holding a blue car up for me to take. I oblige; he picks up the red car in his chubby little digits. “Red!” He says.

I look up to the bar and Babet is watching our exchange, clearly surprised by his acceptance of me. “He likes you.” She says smiling.

“I like him right back.” I roll the blue car across the floor parking it next to Henri’s red car.

“So, I went to the grocery store today, since there is obviously no food in the house, which is understandable. I’m going to cook dinner for the kids, that won’t bother you will it?”

“Not at all, in fact the smell of human food is quite pleasurable. What’s for dinner?”

She laughs, Christ I love her laugh, “Breakfast sausage, pancakes and eggs.”

“Sounds delicious.” I reply as Henri is crashing his red car into my blue car, he is quite proud of himself as he looks up at me. I smile and he smiles back. Babet goes to the bottom of the stairs and calls up to Scarlet, “How many eggs do you want!”

A muffled reply wafts down the stairs, “Two!”

I watch as Babet nods and roll her eyes at teenage insolence. She catches me and smiles, quickly returning to the kitchen. While there is a break in conversation I inquire about the music when I arrived as it ceased after I knocked on the door.

“You were listening to something when I arrived, what was it?”

“In Scarlet’s opinion they are considered old, but I believe what was on when you knocked was Korn’s “My Gift to You”, I love the bagpipes and his anger is relatable. Molly introduced me to them way back in the day. You like?” She says while moving about the kitchen preparing, mixing, and stirring.

“I did, I do. I know Korn, they play it regularly at Morte’. “Life Is Peachy” is a good album, I can relate to that one.”

She smiles, “Yeah, I love that one. What else do they play at Morte’? Sounds like my kind of place.” She feigns embarrassment, “Sounds like it used to be my kind of place.”

“I would hope to never see you there, but they play a wide range of heavy music. Do you gravitate more toward that genre?”

“No, I like all kinds of music, but in my younger days, I could relate more to the angry heavy stuff. Now I listen to it, because I truly enjoy the music instead of dwelling on what I have in common with the lyrics.”

“Lyrics can be powerful and the lyrics in heavier music are definitely more relatable to a vampire…”

Suddenly I hear the distinct sound of the same genre with an entirely younger feel coming from upstairs, I turn to look at Babet, she pauses to listen to the path for feet from the bedroom to the bathroom back to the bedroom, the door closes and the music is more difficult to hear.
“Well, I thought she might come down, but I guess not.”

“Give her time; she’s lost a lot too.”

“I know and her dad being so far away doesn’t help her, I don’t mind it but I can understand missing your father, especially at such a young age.”

“Where is he?” I ask.

“He’s in North Carolina, or last I heard that was where he was. Scarlet said his mother moved back up north, Ohio I think. It’s where they are originally from.”

“Does she talk to him often?”

“I wouldn’t know, she has her own cell and he and I don’t talk unless it’s something dire with her. Which is rare, she’s a great kid. She’s just…a teenage girl.”

“I understand.” I say but I can tell she isn’t convinced.

“Really?”

“Yes, I have…had a sister, Maggie. She was fifteen when were separated and a handful to say the least.”

http://www.amazon.com/Revelations-Cia...

Revelations of Cian

The following evening I am slightly later than usual, in two thousand years I have never had the nervousness I have tonight. I stand outside the door for a brief moment before entering. Inside it is quiet and I don’t hear anything or anyone. I begin to feel like déjà vous has befallen me but I detect slight movement upstairs.

I climb the stairs as quietly as possible, at the top Babet’s room door is open, and she, Henri and Scarlet are asleep in the cannon style bed. Scarlet is covered by the duvet; Henri has made himself the middle of an “H” between his mother and sister, half under the covers; half out.

Babet is on her side uncovered, her legs draped one over the other. She is wearing an oversized blue pinstripe man’s dress shirt and white boy-shorts. I approach her in the bed and see on the side table there is a stamped out joint, the window by the bed is cracked. I roll my eyes and gently close the window. This jars her and she rolls to see me standing there.

“Hey.” She says groggily, “What time is it?”

“It’s just after dusk.” I say, my tone is chastising.

She gets to her feet and stretches, arching her back. The pinstripe shirt rises, shifting up her frame, revealing that her boy shorts had also shifted and the lower part of her alabaster rear-end peeked out beneath them.

I begin to avert my eyes when she tucked her index fingers into the seams on either side, covering the tiny bulges of delicate flesh, but I can’t look away. She seems not to care, still sleepily moving about. She slips her feet into a pair of moccasins and waves for me to follow her. After we crest the doorframe she gingerly closes the door. We are stealth down the stairs to avoid waking the children. I stop and turn halfway down the steps to face her, “You didn’t have to get up…” she cuts me off by pressing her fingers on my shoulder to force me down the stairs.

We reach the bottom and she finally speaks, “I guess hanging out with you has caught up with me.”

I don’t let her get away that easy, “You sure it wasn’t your afternoon activities?” I make a motion of smoking with my thumb and index finger.

“Hardly, it’s not that good.” She says smiling plopping her body down on the chaise. She slips off her moccasins, gathering her knees together, laying them to one side. She lays her head on the armrest and like Estella in my haven; she looks like an ironic painting.

Her hair flows over her shoulder like a black cherry river. I sit on the matching couch, not taking my eyes off her. She closes her eyes and re-adjusts them. She locks on to me, we sit this way momentarily yet it seems like longer and I honestly want it to last forever. Gaze upon her steadfast beauty for an eternity but she interrupts my desires when her lips part, “Will you make me some coffee?” She asks breaking from my gaze, rubbing her eyes and forehead.

I rise, “Of course”, and I think as I walk into the kitchen, “I would cross the Earth on ashen coals for you dear, sweet; intoxicating Babet.”

The task of coffee preparation is executed and replaced with the sounds and smell of percolation. I round the corner, “Thank you.” She says.

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry to push you down the stairs, but Scarlet has ears like a bat.”

“Understandable.” I say smiling.

She takes a deep breath, “I got Tom’s report on the fire this morning. I drove over and handed it straight to my insurance agent. They should have a check for me by the end of the week. I was thinking of looking for another space, another building.”

“Do you have an area in mind?”
“Yes.”

“Oh?”

“I want to buy your warehouse from the city.” She says, as serious as a heart attack. I laugh, but she doesn’t mirror me, “I’m serious.” Her eyes grow wide.

“I’m speechless.” I say.

“It is the perfect size, overly perfect to be honest.”

“It would cost a pretty penny.”

“Turns out I will be receiving quite a few pretty pennies from insurance. It’s unfathomable, my father was very thorough. But…that can wait,” She hops up from her seat, “I want to go down there.” She points to the door to the basement, Madliene’s space impenetrable by light. “Scarlet says she hears running water when she walks by the door and if you’re going to be down there anyway; do you mind?”

“Not at all, I’m ready when you are.”

She takes a deep breath, “Okay.” She says opening the door, recessed lights guide us down. She peeks around the frame. Instantly I hear running water. She places one bare foot on the dark stone steps to descend them. She turns back to smile at me and I am watching her closely.

“It’s all lit up down there.” She says and I think, “Of course the lights come on when the door is opened,” modernization.

I follow behind the scent of lavender and rose hips until I halt her, “Wait, let me go ahead of you.” I suggest partly as a joke, but mostly serious. Who knows what is down here, but I keep it lighthearted passing her on the narrow staircase, “There may be something down here.” My eyes widen and she is playful right along with me. Jokingly gasping and grabbing my shoulders, hiding behind me. We reach the bottom of the stairs and I am hardly shocked at the extravagance down here, but Babet is.

“Holy shit!” She exclaims before covering her mouth in humorous embarrassment. She looks at me, her bright gleaming smile, before being distracted back to the insanely decorated room.

The source of the water is staring us in the face, two stone statues, one behind the other. Two Roman soldiers, the taller statue is slitting the throat of the soldier statue in front of him and the water is pouring like blood into a rectangle Roman style mosaic reflecting pool, each corner adorned with a stone pillar. We step onto the marble tile floor, Babet exclaims again, “Ooh, that is cold.” She begins rubbing her bare legs, the long sleeves of her shirt hiding the majority of her hand, only her fingertips are visible.

She continues to look around; I am right behind her as she does so. She is drawn to the floor to ceiling murals painted on all four walls of the room; illuminated by more recessed lighting overhead. She inspects them, gliding her hand across the wall, singling out certain colors with her fingers. The wall closest to us is olive trees through the seasons; in front of it a lush giant blue chaise which matches the metallic blue tiles in the pool. The chaise is covered with multicolored pillows which have spilled over and are dangerously close to one of the four entrances to the pool. The second wall that flanks the statues is a depiction of war, Trojan to be specific; “The Taking of Briseis” is clearly distinguishable.

The third and farthest wall shows a Bacchanal scene. The art along the extra long wall leads to a domed alcove inside the room. Nestled within the alcove is a tiered platform; a grand bed sits atop the platform, ornate curtains draped over the head of the bed. Babet and I stand staring at the scene and what it leads to. She smiles sweetly but I can feel her emotions mounting to desire and it truly is too much to take. I give in, placing my hands on either side of her shoulders, slowly tracing my hands down her arms, she lets out a light whimper and it’s my undoing.

I reach her fingertips, and slowly graze each one as I nuzzle into her black cherry hair. This sends a rush through her and her skin is radiating fire as her back arcs slightly. I emit a low growl and she takes in a short breath while I run a cold hand across her stomach under the dress shirt. It’s almost as if I am on vampire auto pilot all the motions coming back to me, the seduction of a human. But I have to remember she isn’t just any human. And for right now, she is my human. I firmly grasp her to me and she gasps again, my fingers flicking each button out of its binding.

Once her shirt is open I slip it off her alabaster shoulders. She is standing back to my front and I draw my finger down the length of her spine over her tattoo. I reach the seam of her boy shorts around her waist and trace my finger inside the seam. I stop and she is stone still waiting for what is next. I turn her to face me and her green eyes are slits staring into mine, she breaks from my gaze and begins to gather the fabric of my t-shirt, pulling it up. I take it from her and remove it, throwing it on top of hers. I place a cold hand in the center of her chest, her breasts rise from the initial shock.

She glances at me before treating me like the murals on the wall. She glides her hand across my chest, pinpointing the permanent battle wounds I now harbor. I don’t speak, I just watch her as she inspects me, rounding to my back. She grazes her warm face against my cold flesh, her lips like hot silk as they form a kiss on the backside of my ribcage, where I took a decent stab from invaders. I feel my teeth run out but I have to keep them concealed and my face intact. She too runs her finger inside the seam of my jeans, returning to face me. I am still under her tutelage as she begins to unbuckle my belt, she then removes the button of my jeans from it’s binding. The zipper automatically moves down and once my jeans are open she stops, staring into me, I can’t help but part my lips. The bottoms of my K-9’s hit my bottom lip. She sees this and smiles enticingly, she begins to run her hands up my forearms and heavily tattooed biceps, drawing over the tribal emblems with her fingernail. She digs a nail into my flesh, like lightning I grab her wrist, halting her. She smiles again, clearly wanting.

I am watching her and I…It, wants to throw her half naked ass down, rip off the cotton sheath between me and her perfection. Engulf her on the domed bed and ravage her; hold her down while I fuck her and drink her blood until she is a lifeless husk beside me.

Me, the real me, wants nothing more than to worship every single inch of her, taste her in every way, feel her in every way before burying my manhood inside her. It’s almost as if she is reading me like a book, shaking my grip loose. I release her and she turns on her heel, sauntering over to the domed space. I watch her climb the two steps and then place a knee on the bed, turning to sit on the edge. She leans back; her hands firmly placed behind her making her shoulders touch her ears.

Auto-pilot, indeed; it’s like I am not me but I am watching me slowly walk over to her. She shifts and takes my waist in her hands, her thumbs hitting my hips. She lightly caresses me down there and I feel my desires mounting further. She moves her thumbs to push the denim down, they slip from my frame, and I step out of them. I am standing before her stark and aroused; she places her hands back on my naked hips. She smiles, her teeth are so pristine. She then licks her bottom lip and inserts me into her mouth slowly pressing me to the back of her throat, I call out. She continues, tickling the end with the tip of her tongue before pressing me back in, further, deeper and her rhythm is steadily increasing.
I can hear and feel a slight giggle come from her as I run my hand gently into her hair, I grasp it and she moans. The sound of her ecstasy invokes the same in me. I tug her hair when I feel the scathe of her teeth on my member, she looks up at me her mouth agape but smiling. I bend to her, hair still firmly in my hand. I tilt her head to me and engulf her mouth with mine. Our tongues swirl around each other until I feel her pull from me. I don’t let up until I am ready and when I do she is receptive. I leave her mouth and trail my tongue to her ear and down to her throat, she begins to inch back further onto the bed and I follow. We are beneath the curtain and I lift from the crawl to gaze down at her. She is watching me carefully as I hook my fingers into the seams of her boy shorts, sliding them down her leg’s delicate flesh. I don’t take my eyes off her as I drop her panties on the floor beside the bed.

I begin at her bare foot; lightly tracing her little appendages across my lips. From her baby toe to the tip of the biggest one I savor her scent. My mouth working up her ankle, to the inside of her calf; I pass her knee and truly I am possessed as I ascend her inner thigh. Her natural scent mixing with the sweetness of the erotic sweat I have provoked within her. She is moderately still as she watches me, I gaze up to see her smiling but I want to pull another sound out of her, which I do as my teeth run completely out grazing her flesh.

“Ah…, Cian.” My name is breathless off her lips.

I look up at her. My teeth very apparent, I whisper, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I hear a tiny giggle from her and in her next breath she says, “You could hurt me a little.”

I am so close to her femoral artery, its enchanting rhythm pulsating in my ear almost calling me. She runs her fingers through my raven mop and I am pulled from the reverie of diving into her inner thigh.

I look up at her and I know I don’t look like the person she came down here with, she parts her lips, “It is you.” I feel it, the relief, flushes through her and elation flows through me when she smiles and says, “Show me.”

“I won’t hurt you.” I breathe down at her, my tone is earnest.

“I know, I trust you.” She runs another hand through my hair.

I reach up and take the arm of the hand twisted in my hair, then the other. I gather them both in my clutches and thrust them above her head, slight fear rushes through her but I feel it transform to erotic thrill. I bear my teeth and dart down at her, but instead of striking and drinking I bury into her neck taking in her sensual aroma. She breathes heavily as I work my way from her neck to her clavicles, down to her heaving breasts; kissing the supple meat around her nipples which I clamp down on, rolling my tongue over them, flicking them. She calls out and I can’t help but emit a low growl.

I release her wrists, but she keeps them in place above her head. I brace my hands on either side of her body, breathing down her torso before I kiss the flesh under her navel. She tenses as I trace my tongue over her hip into her groin and I detect her erotic scent again. It’s more than I can bear and I find myself betwixt her thighs at the apex, taunting her clitoris. With each swipe of my tongue she sighs; her interior muscles contracting with my rhythm. I collapse on the bed beside her and insert my long fingers into her sweltering oasis and she grasps the pillows behind her before letting out euphoric vibrations.

Suddenly I feel her contract around my fingers and her body completely erupts but I don’t stop until she grabs my hair and pulls it. She and I are face to face, eye to eye and she leans over to kiss me, both her hands are swimming in my hair as she rolls over to straddle me. I am in my own euphoric state as I gaze up at her. I run my hand up her torso; she lifts and slides down onto my manhood. I am salivating as each inch of my girth gains entry to her pink inferno.
Up and down, slipping in and sliding out I open my eyes to see her staring down at me; an almost demonic seduction exudes her as she collapses onto my chest. I wrap my arms around her and sit up; still connected I rise and carry her to the giant chaise. She lightly kisses my neck as I do so, with one I arm I hold her to me lowering her down on the tufted material, tossing the pillows aside. I don’t exit her; I just continue the rhythm we had come accustom to. I hover over her, watching in awe as she climaxes once and then again.

I follow suit and soon we are immersed in each other, spiraling down the rabbit hole of sensuousness. I rest my head on her torso, stroking her warm skin as she swirls her fingers in my raven hair. She giggles and I abruptly raise my head to see her smiling from ear to ear, her arm draped over her eyes. Her cherry hair spills around above her and over the few pillows left on the chaise.

She is so fucking exquisite but our reverie can’t last and she takes a deep breath propping herself up on her hands, “I guess I didn’t need coffee after all, thank you.” She falls back to the chaise giggling.

“My pleasure,” I say and the sentiment is intended to suggest more than that. I get up from the lounger and hold my hand out to her. She sits up crossing her legs and taking my hand she stands. There in front of me stark, glorious and in the Romanesque setting she is The Venus De Milo incarnate. She steps down from the chaise, dipping to throw a couple of pillows back onto it.

She dips again to gather her shirt and she grabs my t-shirt along with, “Here,” she hands it to me still naked and before I take it I am still engrossed in her but I quickly snap back; holding my hand out to receive it. She smiles, I wasn’t quick enough.

I pull my jeans up and walk over to where her panties lay, mirroring her gesture, “Here,” I smile. After we are dressed we are met with the fourth wall depicting Medusa, her snaked hair flailing about as she turns some poor nave to stone.

“Medusa.” Babet says.

I turn to her, “Hmm, Madliene’s idol.” I suggest.

Babet swats me, “Cian.” She says chastising me humorously.

http://www.amazon.com/Revelations-Cia...

I looked over my shoulder to find Estella’s face had hardened to stone, her eyes bearing into mine. I return to face Madliene, “I will kill them.” I say holding her gaze before my mind was taken by a flash of blood and tears, a pleading emotion coming from the intense image. I couldn’t escape the captivating and familiar face of a young pregnant woman being pulled into a hospital on a blood soaked gurney. I was then hit with the familiar smell of her blood, which became more than I could bear.

What followed was one of the most horrifying images I have ever been forced to endure. I was brought to my knees, but kept my grip on Romeo and Damien, and as there aren’t many times a vampire can cry, I felt the warmth flow from my cold eyes. In that moment the revelation of who this woman was, tore what little sliver of a heart I had left, or rebuilt since meeting Babet, out.

I was face to face with a young Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard, her trembling hand gripping the sticky gurney sheet, her words I cannot hear, but her emotion and fear I harbor pleading for my help. Why I was in the hospital that night, the purpose so lost and unclear to me. The next flash was the final blow, which made me call out for the Queen to stop her mind control.

“No more!” I yelled and I hear the sound of Romeo and Damien’s bodies hitting the floor followed by their combined gasps for life in their lungs. The two humans scurry away to the best of their ability. I rise to face her, Madliene sturdy as a mountain fails to budge. “Why?” I pleaded of her.

“Why indeed Cian,” she clasped her hands together in front of her, launching from the balcony, landing with a thud and began to circle me like the bloodthirsty shark she is. “Why were you there? Why were you so eager to heal a young, pregnant, Mrs. Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard? And most importantly, who would suggest such a terrible thing?”

Her overblown arrogance disgusted me and I could see Estella felt the same. I could feel the intimidation pouring from Madliene, but this time it wouldn’t work.

As I turned to face Madliene I was again, inundated with the vision of Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard’s face buried into my pulsing forearm. I feel my knees weaken yet again as my body felt heavier than it ever had. It had all come together in that moment, in Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard’s pleading eyes staring into mine and as her lips pushed harder into my arm’s cold flesh.

Those big pleading eyes began to roll into the back of her head before she released me from her grasp and fell back onto the gurney. Madliene’s voice broke through the image like a spear through the mist, “You see Cian, no matter what you do to protect her, she will eventually be one of us.” The tone of her voice went from accusing to humorous as she spoke her final words, “And you, dearest Cian have only yourself to blame.”

I hung my head, not comprehending what I had done, why I had done it, or even, why, I was there. My mind was spinning when I heard the heavily cockney voice of a tall Englishman and a face I have only seen in pictures, enter the club. I turn to see him stroll into Morte’ like the devil come courting. An arrogance about him, without question or fear of what he was interrupting and as I turned from the voice of the Englishman I noticed that the arrogance and intimidation of our Queen was diminished as if he were pulling her emotions from her.

“Not entirely yourself to blame. Cian, is it?” he said as he glided over to shake my hand, “Alistair, is my name. Though I don’t need to introduce myself to you do I, Queen Madliene?” The volume of his voice became quiet as he turned to her, taking her delicately deadly hand in his, kissing it gently, and smiling as he met her gaze. Our Queen was speechless, fear had taken over her aura and she seemed to be almost shrinking inside, our powerfully fearless mistress was becoming what resembled a shattered and naive child as if she had been caught by her father in her mother’s lingerie. We could all feel it emoting from her being.

I turn to see Estella’s stance soften, her hands relaxing from their claw like shape. Her face almost relieved to cast her eyes upon Alistair and Angelique who appeared at his side. For the first time tonight Madliene looked worried.

Through the haven doors Xavier and Keane walking almost hand in hand their bodies so close as they approached the situation, a small smirk cross Keane’s face as he and Xavier parted to reveal Babet.

Alive, unharmed on her own feet smiling when she saw and crossed the floor to me, though the closer she got to me I could smell blood on her. I took her in my arms and held her there, taking in all her senses taking me in. Her grasp on my waist as her head rested perfectly in my chest was more relief than I have ever felt from a human, even from my sister when we escaped with our lives hundreds of years ago.

I felt Babet take a deep breath as she burrowed herself deeper and deeper into me, I put my face against her glorious cherry hair and stole my own moment with the scent of her. Eventually, it was obvious that we weren't alone and the entire room was witnessing this personal experience between us, but neither of us cared, just content with the knowledge that the other was safe. For now.

I pull her from me to examine her stained dark blue shirt, “Whose blood is this?” I say to her and only her. She doesn't answer me, just shaking her head and closing her eyes before burying back into my chest.

Alistair was here no doubt to exact some sort of revenge on Madliene and considering the reaction of the proper sides, I was confident that in her absence Angelique had been successful in her mission to find some sort of origin on the soon to be dowager Queen. Even though Alistair had been able to hold Madliene, she wouldn't go down, so to speak without a fight. My thoughts were interrupted by their prolonged completion. Alistair had the ability to read one’s mind and his skills were old and tuned to perfection, “It won’t come to that, Cian….I promise,” All this he said staring into Madliene, never looking at me once, “Will it, dear?”

Madliene said nothing at first, stood as still as the ancient statue she is, Sophia a zombie by her side, Alistair continued to circle her and then pace from each group of us before standing again beside Angelique. We all kept our positions as he continued, “You see, Cian, everyone, this was our last straw; our backs are, broken. Your human…” his voice turned disgusted at the word, “…was never to be involved in our world.”

Angelique fades from Alistair’s side, appearing beside Sophia. She leads the girl away from Madliene who doesn't dare protest. Once Sophia and Angelique are out of site beyond the haven doors Alistair states, “There, that’s better. Sweet Angelique just wanted her sister back; it was all the payment she required for her information regarding this establishment and all of you. Now…”
Alistair continued, explaining that the night I was met with Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard and her unborn fetus, Madliene sent me to the hospital to investigate the found victim of a former member of our family, Razmus. His victim had been drained but not extinguished and the man was still able to communicate, so much so that he was able to identify Razmus; down to the color of his boots.

This of course made the Queen and others very nervous, being who I am I was the natural choice to determine whether or not this man should live and Razmus die or as it went, both. On my exit of the hospital is where I would encounter Babet’s mother. Upon her arrival, it is explained to me, that, not only healing her affected my memory, but Madliene had the entire accord completely wiped from my mind.

Thessaly, who was employed during the 3rd shift at the hospital, tipped the doctor of my ability to help the dying mother. During the conversation with the doctor regarding the possibility of my assistance, which I originally refused to abide. I allowed Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard to penetrate my shield and with her pleadingly beautiful eyes hooked my soul, I obliged. Thessaly, also connected to Madliene, hell, we all are, aren't we, made her aware of the situation, gaining permission to the tip off to who I was. Thessaly’s payment was her neutrality; Madliene would never again request Thessaly’s violent assistance. But why? Why? WHY!? I feel like a child.

“The reason Madliene gave such permission, knowing what she was engaging in?” Alistair stated rather loudly and boisterously before turning to face Estella, “Because of her distaste for her maker, which is how she obtained you, sweet Estella. For years Madliene has hunted those close to her maker, her attempts to hurt him and take from him what he took from her.”, Alistair began to pace yet again, “Estella, tell me, around what year did you get notification of a positive identification of your human family from Madliene?” Estella said nothing, just stared at Alistair, when she seemed to have a glimpse of that time, her brow furrowed and then her eyes slightly widened. At this, Alistair just nodded and paced once again, “That’s what I thought.”

“Was this your master plan, my dear, to obtain the human ties of your maker to form the vampire family you so desperately need.” Madliene’s face met Alistair’s, her lips parted and she spoke for the first time since his arrival. He glances around to each of us.

“Please. Alistair. Don’t.” her tone is weak like a chastised child.

He turns to face her, his fierce blue eyes penetrating her, “It’s too late my dear.”

Flannaghan enters, we are all distracted for a moment and that is all it takes for Madliene to make a move, she is like lightning snatching Babet from my arms, spinning her. Babet is attached to Madliene’s front, pulling Babet from the group, “I am going to do to her what her father did to me! And it won’t take long. Will it darling,” She is stroking Babet’s face with her bone finger, “All I have to do is stop her heart and she will be one of us. Cian, isn’t that what you want, I know it’s what he wants.” She is using my monster as defense, albeit a poor one.

Babet is not letting this small detail she has learned die, “My father is dead.”

She says her voice faltering under Madliene’s grasp.

Madliene cackles, “You’re half right.”

http://www.amazon.com/Revelations-Cia...

The seven mile ride from the Quarter to the house is a short one. I park around back and enter the house through the kitchen. I sling my bag and throw my keys on the counter, making a b-line for the stainless steel refrigerator. I pull the handle and take out a bottle of chilled sake. As I reach into the cabinet and grab a shot glass; Scarlet saunters in. Her matching owl pajamas look to be too small but I dare not say a word. She loves them.

“Hey Mom.” She says sitting at the chopping block bar.

“Hey baby girl!” I exclaim, “You get all your homework done?” I ask.

“Of course, Pa helped me with my math.” She says smiling.

“He’s good at it, excellent choice.”

“Having some sake?” She asks.

“Yeah. Pa wants me to go au pair for his friend in North Carolina. I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Okay?” She seems confused. “Why do you want to talk to me about it?”

“Because I am your mother and you are my daughter and as usual I like to have a clear line of communication with you.” I explain and take my first shot of ice cold sake. Its hints of plum linger in the back of my throat.

“Well…I think you should go.” She says and her tone of voice these days is less teenager, but more, young woman. An aspect she gained while dealing with vampire family business.

“Do you, now?” I say smiling, pouring another shot.

“I do. You…we, have been through so much but you haven’t taken the time to get away, get closure. And you don’t sleep, don’t think I don’t know.”

“Closure?” I had no idea my daughter knew what closure meant.

“Yeah.”

“You know Scar, since March you have really blossomed as a young woman…” I trail off.

“…But?” She asks.

“But, I hate that this all came about because of the bull shit we went through.”

“I don’t mind.” She says and I detect so much happiness from her now. She is no longer the sulky teenager we all knew so well.

I pour another shot down my gullet before saying, “Well I guess we have to get used to it. Right?”

“Right.” She says matter-of-factly.

“So, closure?” I say cocking an eye at my daughter.

“Yeah.” She says smiling.

“How do you obtain yours, if you don’t mind me asking?” I ask; which is unfortunate I have to ask my child how she has gained closure when her mother can’t…or won’t.

“Nana and I bake and while we bake, we talk.” She says, lifting herself from the barstool to get her own beverage; cherry lemonade. I watch her take a glass from the cabinet and the pitcher from the fridge, she stands a little straighter and commands her own presence. I can’t help but smile at my baby girl as she sits back down.

“What?” She asks speculatively.

I take a shot of sake, “Not a thing; I love you, is all.” I wink at her.

“Hey girls!” My Daddy walks into the kitchen and places a blood stained Scotch glass by the sink.

Scarlet finishes her lemonade before hopping off her bar stool to hug my Daddy, “Goodnight Pa, I love you.” She moves toward me and hugs me tight before whispering, “I love you Mamma.” She kisses me on the cheek and walks out to the hall.

Daddy and I watch, once she is out of sight he turns to me and smiles, “She’s a good girl Babe.”

“I know Daddy. She’s much happier here.”

“I concur, I’m happier here too.” He slides onto the stool Scarlet previously occupied. I pour and take another shot of sake.

Daddy pulls out a folded piece of paper from his dress shirt pocket, “Here is the address in Wilmington. His name is Lars Gunnar, he has a two year old son named Soren; the mother, Vilma is still in Sweden working on her own projects so he is in need of twenty four hour child care. He will be in town until Halloween, with two weeks off for personal time. He says you may do as you please during that time, but he does want you to paint his two sons while you are there.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that. When do I need to leave?” I ask shooting another glass full.

Daddy watches as I do this and smirks when I place the glass on the granite, “You sure you’re okay with all of this.”

“Of course Daddy, why?”

“You are drinking an awful lot.”

“Daddy, I’m 32. I can handle it.”

He takes a deep breath, “Okay, well he gets in town August 15th. He would like for you to arrive after.”

I nearly choke on my sake, “That is in two days Daddy! It takes at least fourteen hours to drive from here to North Carolina.”

“Who said you were driving?” He asks.

“Uh…I do.” I retort authoritatively.

“I would prefer you fly into Wilmington, but I understand wanting familiarity while you are there.” He relents sliding the paper over the counter to me.

“And I love my car.” I say smiling, picking it up.

“I’m just thankful you have one of the safest cars on the market. Don’t think I don’t know how you drive, baby girl.” He taps my nose with his finger, it make me close one eye.

He leans over to kiss my forehead before standing to leave, “I have to get back in there but I know you can handle this.” He brushes the loose hair behind my ear.

“I know Daddy, I love you.” I say with a smile but I know the “this” he refers to is loaded, open-ended and perpetually cryptic.

My bottle is almost empty and my vision slightly blurred as I look over the information given to me by my Daddy; Mr. Lars Gunnar and his two year old son, Soren. Artistic opportunity aside, nearly two months in Wilmington, NC will be a change for sure. But it’s not Wilmington I’m looking forward to; it’s the down time I will get to head up to Emerald Isle. I take a deep breath and make my way down the hall and up the grand staircase. My bedroom is an artistic mess and I know before I leave, my Mamma will want me to clean it. No time like the present to do so. I move the easels off the tarp and put all my tubes in a clear plastic tub. I dip down and begin to roll the paint splattered material under foot. I fold it into a much smaller square and place it on the floor in hopes of remembering to wash it before I go. My brushes, charcoal and pastels I organize in a different tub along with my thinners and rags which I put inside a sealable plastic bag.

Once all my supplies are cleaned and organized for travel I turn to see my bedroom looks again like it should. The four poster bed I had as a child has been replaced by a grand sleigh bed with matching accoutrements of furniture. The walls are still encased in its original wall paper, large rose print in a multitude of colors; pink, red, crimson and green leaves surround the vaulted space. I know I won’t sleep so I begin to pack my bags for the next two months.

I pack almost all my t-shirts, jeans, shorts, and a couple of sundresses. Standard beach attire, flip flops of course…are already on my feet. I grab socks, panties and two pair of yoga pants along with my black two piece bikini; tennis shoes and the black stilettos Estella gave me. Scarlet has worn her Estella wardrobe to its fullest potential but I can’t bring myself to walk around the house or go to work in dress slacks and jackets. But I do grab the black dress from Molly’s party, just in case. I don’t know what capacity I would need the dress, but as Mamma always says, “It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

I zip up the black duffel bag of clothes before I pack my art supplies away. I’ll have to buy canvas once I arrive but I can take my clear plastic tubs as long as they fit in my back seat; considering the lack of space since I’m taking Henri’s car seat for my use in NC. A light bulb goes off and I pad into my bathroom; talk about a blast from the past. It’s similar to my old bathroom in the studio. Seafarer Blue with white tiles; single pedestal sink and a pull chain toilet. My Daddy had shelves put up for all my lotions and potions. I glance at myself in the mirror before retrieving my toothbrush out of the antique medicine cabinet. My green eyes are blood shot from lack of sleep and drinking didn’t help. But I love my hair, taking the tresses between my fingers. I pull them and release them as the bounce from my crown resets. The ends are razor thin causing them to flip slightly. Frankie is a fucking hair genius.

I secure my electronic toothbrush with other personal hygiene items in my toiletry bag and shove the little pouch into the black duffel. I bend over to collect the tarp and head downstairs; stopping to check on Henri before I do. My little man is fast asleep in his big boy bed. I can’t help but hover over him watching his chest rise and fall. I will miss his big beautiful blue eyes and long lashes like his Daddy. Henri’s blonde hair is bone straight and hanging over his eyes while he sleeps; he coos lightly as he turns over. I cover him with his blanket and back out of his room.

I pull Henri’s door ajar and re-secure the tarp in my arms. Down the grand staircase I can hear multiple voices. I discern Estella and Daddy before I hear Alistair’s cockney tone sing through. I don’t know what they are discussing and I really don’t care. I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn to go back to the kitchen; beyond it is the laundry or mud room. Lucky for me Mamma has already treated and washed my other tarp.

I switch the two and make my way back to my room. I’m caught mid step by Estella, “Babet! Hey honey!!” My Daddy’s ex and Mamma’s aunt grabs me in a bear hug.

“Hey Estella, how are you?” I ask as I gaze upon her incredible beauty.

“I’m great, you know your Daddy is really revolutionizing the city, vamps are happy and healthy…” She trails off, “but I heard you’re going on vacation?”

I snicker, scoff and roll my eyes, “Yeah a working vacation, but I will get a little time off while I’m there.”

“Yeah?” She asks smiling devilishly, “And Cian?”

Again, the sound of his name sparks something in me and I know Estella can see it. She is smiling her brightest gleaming smile. I can’t help but mirror her embarrassingly.

“Yeah…Cian.” In my mouth warm waters pour from my salivary glands; like I can taste him.

“Estella!” My Daddy calls from the billiards room; Estella jerks her head in that direction.

“Bye honey,” She says kissing my cheeks. “Have fun!”

I watch her as she closes the billiards room door behind her. I turn on heel and pad upstairs. Once I am safely in my room I text Frankie, “Leaving in the am.”

I don’t get the chance to put my cell down before Frankie’s instant reply, “Be careful, have fun, we love you.”

I smile at the glowing screen; I have the best friends on the entire planet. I return her sentiments, “Luvies.”

Its 5:30 am, Scarlet is getting ready for school, and Henri is still asleep the following morning as I watch the sun come up. I bring down my bags and art tubs, pack my car to leave, and kiss my son before I do. I said good-bye to my Daddy before he went into day-stasis and hug my Mamma who is waiting for my departure in her robe on the vast porch. Scarlet descends the few steps to jump into my car, but stops to kiss Mamma good bye for the day. I’m going to miss my own talks with “Nana”.
___________________________________________________________________________________
I arrive home late from work, having had a couple of beers with Frankie after closing. The house is dark aside from the light pouring from the kitchen windows. I take a deep breath and park my car; Mamma is waiting up for me. I creep through the door and close it behind me. The mud room has laundry overflowing, blocking the door from opening completely. I crest the threshold of the kitchen to see Mamma in her day’s attire; white button up dress shirt, open to reveal the black and red baubles around her neck. She has her legs crossed under the table, tapping her fabulous black heel on the table’s leg. She looks up, startled by my standing there, “Babe! Lord, honey! I know you can’t help it, but I hate when you sneak around here!” She laughs off her scolding.
“I’m sorry Mamma, but like you said, “I can’t help it.”” I say putting my bag and keys on the long country style kitchen table. I smile at her to soften my retort, but sometimes she just says the wrong things to me.
Mamma stands and gathers her chardonnay glass, she replaces it to embrace me, “How was your day sweetie, you’re home a little late?” She pets my hair. She hates it short.
“I should say the same for you, usually by this time you’ve settled for the evening.” I sit at the table while she turns to pour herself another glass of wine.
“You want a glass honey?” She holds the bottle out, it’s nearly empty.
“No, but you can bring me the open bottle of sake in the fridge.” I suggest. She begins to saunter over, “a shot glass too please?”
She turns back to collect the one I used last night, one of two I bought as souvenirs from Graceland. This one has a picture of Elvis in a cable stitched sweater etched into the glass. He’s was so handsome. I reach out to take the bottle and glass from Mamma. She places her goblet down to adjust her black and white hounds tooth pencil skirt before gracefully sitting.
“So?” She says before taking a swig from her glass.
“So, what?”
“Why are you home so late?” Her tone is irritably sweet.
“I went with Frankie to have a couple of beers. Marcus just invested in a cider brewery and we went to check it out. Since I don’t like cider I had a couple of beers.”
“I’m glad you were with Frankie.”
I shake my head slightly, “What does that mean Mamma?”
“Nothing darlin’, I just hate to think of you drinking alone.” She says holding up her glass of wine to indicate she is doing just that.
“Oh, Mamma…I’m sorry, are you okay?” I ask, not considering her current state of mind.
“Of course, sugar! It’s nothing.” She waves off the notion of life’s imperfections.
I reach across the table for her free hand, the one not spinning her glass on the table top and squeeze it, “Mamma, you can talk to me, you know that.”
“Oh, I know.” She turns her hand over to squeeze mine back, “I’ve just been having a bit of trouble coping with losing my position here.” She says, interpreting to me that she misses the inquiring crowds brought in by the family home being a museum. “I’m glad your father is back, don’t misinterpret me. I missed him more than I can ever express, but his re-entry to our lives has been just as jarring for me as it has been for you and the kids.”
“I can’t imagine Mamma. I mean, all I remember is what you told me as a child and hearing your whimpers at night.”
“You heard that?” She asks, but it’s not a question, “Of course you heard it…Oh Babet…I…”
“Mamma, it’s okay.” I squeeze her hand again. “When he had to leave, you said he would return and you were right, regardless of the time; you were right.” I smile; she meets my eyes and smiles in return.
“I know you and Daddy have made your peace and I’m glad but I want you to know that letting him go wasn’t easy for me and I still harbor some resentment because of it, because of him and who he is, what he is.”
“Talk to me Mamma, I can’t or won’t ever know unless you tell me.” I plead, longing for this conversation with her. My mother; the conservative southern belle.
She takes a deep breath, “Before I start,” she jumps up to pour the remaining liquid into her glass, her heels click across the floor as she hustles back, “Well, as you know you were ten when his contacts informed him of her…”, my mother refuses to say her name out loud, “shenanigans in Europe. He let it go for a couple of months, but when Linde called and reported the death of his brother, your father had to step in. That girl had gotten way too big for her britches and this is before she came back to the city…” My mother takes a long sip of wine, “So he left, after more than a few heated arguments between us. I, of course used you to get him to stay; deserting his only daughter, his only child. It was desperate I admit, but what choice did I have? He was my world, my everything; I couldn’t just let him go. I know you thought it was about status Babe, I know you judged me at first. You had to, considering what we went through. But it was more, I was alone without him. Even though I had you, who looked like me, but acted like him and knowing what he was and what you might do or might be, frightened me without him.”
I don’t want to interrupt but the thought of never hearing from him over the years bothered me, “Did he never call?” I ask quietly.
Her gaze turns sad, “Yes, Babe. He called over the years.”
I pour and take a shot, followed by another, “Why, Mamma? Why didn’t I talk to him?”
“At first you did. But the calls became few and far between, eventually you weren’t here to take his calls.”
I shake my head, “I’m sorry Mamma.”
“Honey, it’s okay. You had no control over who you are or where you come from. We, with some help, brought you into this world, not knowing, not fully understanding the possibilities or repercussions of such an act. It was something we committed to together, like we did when we married. When he left I was devastated, thinking of everything I went through, we went through,” She corrects herself but I understand where she’s coming from. Having children, literally giving birth is no laughing matter and as a woman our bodies go through a series of torturous changes to bring forth human life. For those women who have done it over and over successfully, more power to you. I’m not the one, I’m happy with my healthy two. But for my mother it was a series of heartbreak and ache over loss after loss. Nine times; each time being excited and hopeful that this time, will be the time. “Long story short, being without your Daddy, raising a half vampire child was rather difficult.”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing the long version, what I know is so minimal. What was my birth like?”
“Your birth was as normal as any after we “kept you in”.” She says using the air quotes. It’s nice to see her so nonchalant about it all right now, “It was the keeping you in that was so traumatic. Just like all the others.”
“Nine.” I state.
“Nine.” She mirrors, looking up at the ceiling.
“You said raising me was difficult without Daddy, where you scared of me Mamma?” I ask, peering up from the sake bottle label.
“Honey, why do you think I left well enough alone most of the time? Scared? Terrified, is more the term. We found our way though, right?”
“Yes, I found something to help us with it.” I say smiling like the Cheshire cat.
“Don’t I know it? Do you know how scared I was of how you obtained that stuff?” She shakes her head at me smiling. “Now we may be faced with the ultimatum of what you could be capable of, should you choose a life with Cian. I suppose you’ve discussed that with Daddy too.”
“Yes. That is if I ever see Cian again.” The sulkiness of my voice is audible.
“Oh, you’ll see him again. He can’t stay away. Neither can you, the blood won’t let you stay apart.” She states. This, among many other things my Daddy and I discussed regarding the bonds of blood.
“Daddy says there is no way to live with Cian without truly living as he does; as they do. I’m scared Mamma.” I say and my Mamma snaps her head up to meet my frightened eyes.
She squeezes my hand, “You wouldn’t be slightly human if you weren’t a little scared baby girl.” We both laugh at the joke. “But, know this Babet; as a human you are a wonderful person and devoted, loving mother. And I’m proud of you and what you have already become.”
“Thank you Mamma; that means more to me than I can express.” We share a moment that had long been lost to us. “Speaking of kids; how was Henri today?”
“An angel, I swear Babe that boy is so smart it’s insane. I took him to the park, at every stop sign he told me to stop, called out the letters, and said it was a red octagon!” She boasts.
I laugh, “He’s a bright bulb alright. So perceptive.”
“Exactly the word I was looking for, perceptive.” She agrees. “We also went by the condo after picking Scarlet up from school.”
“Oh yeah, I meant to ask you if the new tenants were working out?”
“Well, I didn’t want to sell it, so I had to generate the income for it somewhere. Your Daddy said he would take care of it, I know what that means, and so I had to rent it. They’re okay, I hate anyone but me living there, but it is what it is.”
“Take care of it? What did he mean by that?” I ask not understanding.
“He would sell it. There is no reason to have it, when we have all this.” The last few words she enunciates like royalty waving her arms around. “I tried explaining to him what his leaving meant, why I had to do what I did where the house was concerned, he wouldn’t hear it.” She sulks in her chair and it’s clear to me she’s had enough chardonnay.
“Mamma?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you happy?” I ask.
She bolts up in her chair, “Of course baby! See I knew you would interpret this incorrectly…and why shouldn’t you? All I’ve done is bitch and babble.” She quickly covers her mouth with wide eyes.
“Mamma!” I gasp, my Mamma doesn’t curse. I laugh heartily causing her to follow suit. Before long we are in complete stitches causing my Daddy to come into the kitchen and our heart-to-heart to end.
“Hey, hey that’s what I like to hear from my girls, laugher!” He saunters over to Mamma, clasping her head in his hands; he tilts it back to plant a kiss on her nose. She reaches up to grasp his hands, kissing each of his palms.
Daddy rests his hands on Mamma’s shoulders. I take a moment to look at my parents; together. It’s a strange sight to my aged eyes, in my younger years they were the same age or seemed to be the same age now my father remains as my mother has aged. The epiphany hits me; it’s not his return or what I may be, it’s not the loss of the tourists. It’s the way she looks; she’s older as he is exactly as he was when she met him, when he seemed to be the older partner. Besides the obvious concerns for me, this is a major one for her, blindly reiterated to me. Is she remorseful for refusing his offer to turn her, make her like him? When did he make the offer? Before me, after me?
I’m pulled from the swirling questions, “Babe?” My Daddy asks.
“Yeah?” I snap to.
“I think Mamma needs to go upstairs.” He suggests.
“Yes Daddy.” I say as I notice Mamma has fallen asleep at the table. I help her up and receive a kiss from my Daddy. Once I have her up the grand staircase and in her room I drop her on the giant ottoman center of the room, “Okay, you’re good.”
Mamma sits up, perfectly sober, and crosses her legs to continue our conversation, “You could have let me down more gently!”
__________________________________________________________________________________
I smile at the memory before I blow my Mamma a kiss and mouth the words “I Love You” at her, she mirrors me before clutching her robe to her chest.
“I’ll pick you up after school Scar!” My Mamma calls to her.

“Okay, Nana!” Scarlet yells before hopping in.

I’m adjusting my shuffle player for the trip; Tool, Deftones, A Perfect Circle and Korn. I also program Incubus, Queen’s of the Stone Age, H.I.M. and Ministry. Dropkick Murphy’s, KMFDM, NOFX and Fugazi. My player holds so much music and I’m an equal opportunity music listener. For downtime I have Bjork, Blind Melon, The Bravery and Gorillas. I also like a multitude of rap and R & B; I’m blessed with Dr. Dre, Ememim, Snoop and Xhibit; I also enjoy local/New Orleans native Lil Wayne; Drake and Two Chains. I dig Jay-Z, DMX, and TuPac as well as Jay Cole, Marvin Gaye, Luther Vandross. Honestly the list goes on and on; big band, do-whop and classical; Jazz and some old time Gospel. A favorite relatable quote I’ve forever etched on my memory, “Without music life has no soundtrack.”

“Did you program Black Veil Brides and Blood on the Dance Floor?” Scarlet says while fastening her seatbelt.

“Oh, man! I forgot. As soon as I get to a stop, I’ll download their albums. I just didn’t have a lot of time to prepare for this trip.” I say smiling at my daughter.

“Well, don’t forget, because they are beyond awesome.” She does the typical teenage hand gesture as if to say, “duh!”

I put the car in gear and head for the open road. First stop is Scarlet’s school and while she is exiting I text Teacup. “Early, I know. Swing thru?”

“Bye Mom, I love you. Be careful.” Her tone is stern, she knows my driving habits.

“I’ll call as soon as I can, I love you baby girl.” I call after her.

My cell chimes at me, “Yeah I’m still up.”

I put my cell in between my legs on the car seat and head toward the renovated warehouse district. Teacup is a Cuban welding artist who just so happens to live in Molly’s building. But on the side he slings a little bud now and then. Considering the journey I’m about to take, herbal refreshment would come in handy once I arrive. I don’t know if it was subconscious or not but I turn down the row of warehouses that had yet to be considered for renovation by the city.

Against my better judgment I pull my car around to his warehouse. It looks as it did the night of Molly’s party and after Mora’s death, and a FOR SALE sign with the word SOLD slapped across it is definitely different, but hardly unexpected. My Daddy has been at work again. I get out of my car and walk over to the only accessible door. I run my fingers over the sign and as my hand falls away from it I get the urge to turn the knob. I know it’s locked so I don’t make the attempt.

I get back into my car and slowly drive in the direction of Molly and Teacup’s building. I slow to almost a complete stop when I see the pile of rubble that was once the vampire club Morte’, had been cleared away. All that remained is a concrete slab with sporadic pipes jutting from it. I take a deep breath and release a heavy sigh closing my eyes. I don’t linger and take my foot off the brake.

I park on the side of Teacup’s unit; luckily it’s across the building from Molly’s. It’s not as if she isn’t aware of our friendship; most of the art community is friendly. I just can’t get into conversations right now; it’s bad enough I’m wasting time with Teacup. I need to get on the road. Fourteen hours, groan.

I reach Teacup’s door and knock lightly, the hallway echoes like crazy and most of these residents either just went to bed or are getting ready for bed. Oh to be a young artist again; the good old days. Since Cian left I have had the opportunity to experience a reflux of it, but instead of sleeping it off all day, I hardly sleep at all.

“Yeah.” I hear muffled through the door.

I turn the knob and push the door. Teacup’s decorating style is more masculine than Molly’s. Teacup doesn’t cover the industrial and mechanical aspects of the loft; he embraces it. His metal work hangs all around the vaulted space.

I put my keys on the butcher block and sit across from him, “Hey Teacup.”

“Hey Babe, what’s good?” He says, leaning back into his chair.

Teacup, whose real name is Tumelo Raul Renier; is anything but. Originally from Caldas Cuba he is a tall hulking man of thirty with milk chocolate skin and chestnut eyes. He laces his long fingers together waiting for my reply.

“I’m heading out of town for an extended period of time and could use some provisions.” My tone is humorous.

He laughs and rises from his chair, using all his energy to lift his frame from the low resting place. I watch him descend his staircase to return with an ornate sterling silver jewelry box the size of a shoe box. He places it gently on the metal coffee table between our chairs; opens it and removes a large bag of marijuana. I instantly smell the potency of the batch and I’m so glad I called Teacup when I did.

“How much you need?” He asks; his eyes fixed on mine.

“Can you spare an OZ?” I ask warily. It’s a lot to ask for on short notice but it doesn’t seem to faze him.

“I sling this to the others for $250.00 an O, but for you Babe; $200.00.” He says smiling.

The dollar amount is no sticker shock to me, I pull out the $500.00 cash I stuffed in my back pocket before leaving the house and hand $200.00 to Teacup, “Thanks T; I’ll bring you something back from my trip.”

“Where you going?” He asks taking my cash and depositing it into the beautiful box. He then dips below the table to retrieve his digital scales; weighs and bags my merchandise.

“Wilmington, North Carolina.” I say taking the bag from his giant hand.

“Wilmington, huh? Yeah, you ought to get away from this heat. Should be nice up there this time of year.” He stops to secure all the accoutrements, placing the box under the table. “Why you going up there?”

This is the conversation I didn’t want to get into so I keep it simple and I know Teacup will appreciate it, he looks like he could use a good night’s sleep, “Lucrative artistic opportunity.” I say and it’s partly true.

“I hear ya, get your money baby girl.” He says mid yawn.

“I appreciate you seeing me this early, but I got to hit the road and you clearly need to hit the bed.” I say laughing.

“Hell yeah I do, drinkin’ and welding all night is killing me…but I fucking love it.” He says stretching and it’s amazing how tall he is.

“All right.” I call at the door; keys and bag in hand.

“All right.” He says half way down the staircase.

I walk into the hallway and of course I have no where to put this giant smelly bag. I roll my eyes at myself but I don’t linger in the hall. Thankfully I don’t run into anyone in the hall, the elevator or the parking area. I’m secure in my car and quickly pull my art bag out from the back seat. I dump the supplies out of one of the sealable plastic bags inside and shove the package from Teacup in their place. I seal the bag and my car slowly looses the scent of fruity cannabis.

I take a deep breath and as I look down I realize I didn’t grab any coffee before I left the house. Coffee is essential if not mandatory to my survival. I backtrack to the heart of the French Quarter and thank the highest of higher powers that Café DuMonde stays open twenty four hours and parking this early in the Quarter is easy. I hop from my car and make a b-line to the green and white striped awning. As I order café au lait, black coffee and two orders of beignets; I swear I see a fairly recognizable celebrity reading a newspaper at a corner table. I turn back to the cashier smiling, couldn’t be…but then she does have a house here.

Since I will be missing the famousness of chicory infused coffee for the next two months I had to indulge. I take my change and shove it back in my pocket. In my car the smell of Teacup’s package had thankfully died down and the scent of fresh French pastry begins to permeate the air around me. Before long I am turning down Tulane Avenue. I merge onto the I-10 East and for the next 136 miles I speed and jam out to my favorite tunes. I recall Scarlet’s words about her band recommendations and make a mental note to download the two albums once I am in Montgomery.

The highway in Montgomery Alabama is relatively quiet and I know I ‘ve bypassed the early morning traffic. Score! My small victory falls away when I realize I still have to drive through Atlanta and by the time I get there it will be close to lunchtime, fuck. I pull off to stop for gas and a switch of music; taking Scarlet’s advice I find the albums, Wretched and Devine by Black Veil Brides and Blood on the Dancefloor’s Anthem of the Outcast. I merge onto Highway I-85 North toward Atlanta and I have to give my daughter credit for her musical tastes. I look down at the screen on my shuffler and see the five members of Black Veil Brides are literally a younger, hotter, and better sounding Kiss.

I fall into a groove while driving and I don’t realize when BVB switches to Blood on the Dancefloor until the song “Where is my Wonderland” begins to play. The melodic beginning is tempting which is only enhanced by the siren song in the background. The lyrics come in and I can see why my daughter loves this band. Relatable is an understatement in Scarlet’s case.

Finally in Atlanta and it’s everything I dreaded it to be. Bumper to bumper traffic at 12:30; groan. I have to say I haven’t been this way north in years and for me to remember the traffic in Atlanta is beyond awful is really saying something. It’s a beautiful city with a rich history, no doubt; but damn. For sure my fourteen hour drive just became a sixteen hour drive. I can’t dwell on it and I decide at that moment I won’t. I flow with traffic until merging onto I-20 East toward Augusta, Georgia. I don’t even notice driving through South Carolina; after Augusta I’m literally itching to cross into North Carolina. If I make it to Wilmington without a speeding ticket it will be a miracle. Highway I-20 East to 95 which takes me across that state line and I swear I can feel and smell the salt in the air already but I still have a hundred and thirty miles before I get into Downtown Wilmington. Though, I don’t think I have to go that way; the Gunnar’s temporary residence is on Wrightsville’s beachfront.



http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...

To see who I pictured when I wrote Babet's Epiphany go to Pinterest.com

http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...

In Wilmington I stop at an upscale gas station and grab my bag from the back. To meet the Gunnar family I have packed one of my sundresses and a newer pair of flip flops. I pair the white sundress with a black sweater since the spaghetti straps are less than conservative. In the mirror I finger my tresses and add a little bit of eye-liner and mascara. My Mamma says without makeup I look like, “Death warmed over.” She’s right and it’s worse since I’ve been in the car for the entire day. I take a deep breath; gather my jeans and t-shirt and head back to my car.

My assumptions of the Gunnar’s beach house are exactly correct and I’m in absolute awe of the three story palace. The Wrightsville beachfront mansion is pale yellow with blue shutters on every one of the large rectangular etched windows. My eyes follow from the door, up to the second story balcony and up further; this house is like a never ending structure to the starry night sky.

I park my car behind a fleet of expensive vehicles. A silver Audi TT sits in front of a Jeep Rubicon but my attentions are diverted to a beautiful Mercedes C-class, sleek black and chrome glow pristine under flood lights. I don’t get to linger at the statuesque automobile when I hear the front door open.

“You’re here!” A diluted Nordic accent chimes over the sound of wind and crashing waves, I see my Daddy’s friend Lars Gunnar, actor of stage and screen. “I’m Lars; Babet?” He says his smile warm and inviting.

“Babet. Yes sir, Mr. Gunnar.” I say, my southern charm oozing through.

“Please, Lars. Call me Lars.” He bows slightly and clasps his hand to his chest. He rises and he is quite tall, lanky almost with light blue eyes and graying blonde hair. His skin is pale and supple; he doesn’t look like a sixty year old man.

“Lars, yes sir.” My tone is professional.

“You can gather your things momentarily; I would like you to meet Soren before he goes to sleep. Okay?”

“Of course.”

Lars holds his hand out for me to go ahead of him to the house, but passes me to open the door. I thank him with a smile; I’m very used to a man holding my door. I pass into the foyer and look high above me and all around me.

The space above is open to multiple sky lights with a grand staircase to the left and the open modern kitchen and dining room to the right. Straight ahead is a great room with leather furniture and beach decor looking out a window framed glass wall with doors leading to a massive second story deck. Beyond is sand and sea, which I can see from the foyer. To the left of the great room is a dark hallway, which I imagine leads to the master bedroom.

“The studio wanted to put me and Soren in a gated community off the beach, but I refused. I told them it was beach front or I walk.” He says smiling but I can see he is a little nervous. He quietly asks, “How was your drive up?”

We ascend a grand staircase; Lars leads me down a dark hall outside the little boy’s room and I feel slightly uncomfortable, “Fine. Long, but I made it.” I say smiling.

“Yes.” He turns the knob and opens the door to a well decorated little boy’s room. Blue and Green planes fly beneath a clouded ceiling. Plastic trucks, matchbox cars and stuffed animals litter the floor and beyond all the chaos a blonde curly haired boy with long eyelashes is passed out in a round spaceship bed. I can’t help but close in on the little tyke who with his eyes closed resembles my own little boy. Lars is picking up toys to make a path as I gaze at his son.

I can’t help but quietly comment, “He’s precious.” My guts wrench for Henri and Scarlet.

“Yes…but he is sleeping. They are all angels when they are sleeping.” He kicks a stuffed monkey toward an open closet. “I was hoping you would meet him while he was awake, but…” I don’t let him finish.

“I got held up in Atlanta.” I say matter-of-factly and it seems to work because he is smiling.

“Yes I’ve worked in Atlanta before, traffic is terrible. Lucky for me I had a driver.” He says holding out his hand to usher me from the room. I realize it’s late but I feel like I’m being rushed around the house.

We walk back down the staircase and I’m hoping at some point I will be able to get my stuff out of my car and settle. No such luck, Lars is ushering me toward the open great room. He hands me a legal sized sheet of paper with black writing from top to bottom and I know this is the mother’s instructions for her husband to handle their son. At the very top; SOREN, is written in dynamic calligraphic letters.
“I’m sorry I can’t show you to your room just yet. I’m on a tight schedule for this production and I have to be on set tomorrow morning at 6:30. That is everything Vilma; my wife has directed for Soren.”

I glance over the list and zero in on his wake time; 7:30 am, Breakfast prepared by Henley. I scan the remainder of the paper before opening my mouth, “Who is Henley?” I ask.

“Henley is our chef. He is wonderful, you will love him, and he arrives at six on the dot every morning.”

“I’m sure I will. Who is Justus?” I ask, the name at the bottom accompanies the statement; “Arrives on Friday.”

“Justus is my oldest son, he is also an actor.”

“Oh, are you working together on this project?” I can’t help but smirk internally, I sound like a pro.

“No, not this time. We have worked together in the past, but not on this production. He is coming into town for pleasure, not business.”

“Ah.” I simply retort.

“He is the other portrait I would like you to paint. Soren…and Justus.”

“Of course.” I start to feel like I have a limited vocabulary.

I scan the list again and there are no wardrobe/uniform specifications printed so I inquire, “What do you want me to wear while I’m attending Soren?”

I seem to have caught him off guard because he is staring at me like I am insane, “I’m sorry?” He chuckles.

“Uniform? Do I need to acquire a uniform?”

He laughs heartily this time and it’s a pleasant sound, “Oh, no. My dear, you wear whatever you like. We are not those types of people.” He says and I think to myself, “This list proves otherwise”. He begins to double over and I didn’t realize I was so funny, “I’m sorry…it’s just, I realize my wife’s list is intricate, but you must understand; Soren is her first child.”

Immediately I’m relieved and it must show, Lars is staring with wide eyes, “Yes, sir. I have two children of my own, but…” He cuts me off.

“You understand then.” He nods, smiling.

I get new mothers are particular and articulate about their children, but wait until she has the next one; this list shit will go right out the window. I can tell by his tone that there is some extended familial drama there but it’s none of my business and I wait for him to continue.

He shifts his eyes to a clock on the wall and says, “It’s later than I thought, let me show you to your room and you may get settled. Will you be able to wake Soren on time?” He asks smiling like I can’t handle it.

“Yes sir, I will be awake when Henley arrives.” I reply with complete professionalism, but I know I will be awake for the rest of the night.

He nods and smirks out of the corner of his eye, “All right then. I‘ll be gone by the time Henley arrives so it will be just you and Soren for the day. I do have a dinner tomorrow night to attend but Henley will prepare your meals before he leaves for the evening. Get acquainted with the list here,” He taps the legal sized paper drooping in my hand. “And I may or may not see you tomorrow evening. We can discuss the portraits once Justus arrives, he has some ideas.” He rolls his eyes at his son’s presumptiveness.

I keep it light, we are only on partial day one; “I’m open to suggestions.”

He laughs and winks at me. I follow him as he waves me toward the staircase; he holds his hand out and says, “The last door on the left is your room Babet; across from Soren. Bathroom is at the end of the hall. Please make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.” I say, he turns to go back into the darkness of the house I think to myself, I hate when people say that, “Make yourself at home” it always makes me feel more self conscious about being a guest in a strange house. I shrug my shoulders and make my way back up the steps and down the hall. I open the door, I don’t go in but I do place the instruction sheet on the first piece of furniture I see in the dark room. I turn on heel to go back out to my car and collect my things. The house is quiet while I go in and out; up and down the stairs, my arms full of art supplies and my two duffle bags. My last trip out to the car I grab my stuff from the back seat. The sealable plastic bag, with my care package from home inside, is not living up to its name. I can detect a hint of cannabis when I grab my linen sack concealing the package. I want to kick myself for not buying papers at the gas station; I won’t be able to indulge tonight. I certainly could use it, driving and basically a stair-master routine later I’m going to be restless until Lars leaves or Henley arrives or Soren wakes.

My bedroom is a good size; it has standard beach furniture, blonde wood. Inside the door to the right is a large dresser, just past is a closet. I drop onto the fluffy mint green duvet that matches the walls and look around. Between the end of the bed and entertainment center is a narrow walkway, flat screen television, blu-ray player and shuffle player stereo reside inside the cabinet. There is a nice sized window at the end of the room and by the bedside is a small table. The décor is beach fare; starfish, tropical fish and driftwood. The floors throughout are light bamboo with white trim.

I push myself off of the bed and grab my tarp from the long plastic bin. I unfold a portion the material in a nook of the room. I’ll have to wait for the sun to come up before I can position my easel and I hope that the light in this room is good. I prop it against the window frame none the less. I’m not one to unpack my bags and use the dressers in hotel rooms or any other place besides home; but I am one to lay out all my toiletries and I’m a little excited to see the bathroom. I quietly creep into the hall since Soren’s room is directly across from mine; cosmetic bag and “LIST” in hand. The door opens like butter and I slip inside. I flip on the light and I’m amazed at the luxuriousness of the communal bathroom.

The bathroom is a galley; a wide galley. Two rooms, the powder room is first, a long basin sink stretches from door to door, and there is ample dressing space in this portion of the room. Above it is a large framed mirror and the cabinets underneath are sleek and modern. I open the second door where the basin tub and toilet are, and there is vast space around the two. I wonder what the master bath is like! Wow!

I look in the wall to wall mirror; take a deep breath and running my fingers through my hair I could definitely use a bath. It’s the perfect opportunity to try out the large porcelain basin tub. I turn the water on fast and hot. I slip back into my temporary bedroom and grab the instruction sheet off the dresser. I can become familiar with it while I soak the day away. I secure the door and slip out of my clothes; the water is so hot it’s like ritual slowly sliding into the steaming water.

This temperature is most definitely not healthy but it feels so good. I finally sit and the heat feels like tiny hot pokers on my inner thighs. It’s sick, I know but man does it feel good. I’m settled enough to grab the paper off the floor and the porcelain under my arm gives me a cold shock. As strange as it is a flash of Cian’s beautiful face hits me and I almost drop the paper in the water. Oh how I miss his piercing ice blue eyes under that dark furrowed brow and the tiny strands of his raven hair hanging between those eyes.

I swear I get a whiff of his indiscernible scent; like a Penhaligon’s sample set, and the memory of our time in Mad..Mora’s basement floods my consciousness. I close my eyes and sink further into the scalding water. Flashes of his lips at my thigh and then at the apex sends me over the edge. My body tenses and without touching myself what so ever I fall into ecstasy grasping the sides of the tub the paper crumpled in my fist. I keep quiet but it isn’t without great difficulty. I cannot believe that just happened; I mean the dreams were one thing but this is a whole other level; I’m wide awake.

My dreams. Oh boy, my dreams. In the beginning they scared the absolute shit out of me but after the first couple I began to enjoy it. I was plagued with the vision of a frightening yet alluring creature hovering over me, tracing my body with its breath. Until it penetrates and violates me; drinking my blood while ravaging me sexually was scary; at first. Another subconscious sickness I’m sure. Apparently I’m full of them; death wish after death wish. My long lost boyfriend is a vampire, were he to lose control I would become what he is, what my father is and what my…Estella is. Calling her Aunt is too weird. I drive entirely too fast and on occasion, way too fast. The list goes on.

I shake all of this and open my eyes; attempting to straighten the paper. I hope they don’t think I purposefully crumpled it. I take deep breaths as I calm down from that delightful strangeness. I regain composure and focus on the hand written directions.



http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...

To see who I pictured when I wrote Babet's Epiphany go to PINTEREST.com

http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...

Augusta Fern

SOREN

Wake at 7:30 am, Breakfast- prepared by Henley.

8:30 to 10:30 am, Learning Television

10:30 to 12:00 pm, Snack - prepared by Henley. Play time – beach or outing

Outings: Park
Cape Fear Museum
Cameron Art Museum
Fort Fisher Aquarium
The Children’s Museum of Wilmington
Wilmington Railroad Museum
The USS North Carolina-Battleship (Soren’s favorite)

12:00 to 1:30 pm, Lunch – Prepared by Henley or healthy lunch while out, small portions. (Please arrange with Henley if you will be out)

1:30 to 3:30 pm, Nap

3:30 to 4:00 pm, Snack prepared by Henley

4:00 to 5:00 pm, Quiet play time in Soren’s room (this is your break)

5:00 to 6:00 pm, Dinner prepared by Henley (on occasion you may leave Soren with Henley to have dinner alone, please arrange with Henley 24 hours prior)

6:00 to 6:30 pm, Bath time (Soren may play for 15 minutes after you bathe him)

6:30 to 8:00 pm, Reading time

8:00 Bedtime


*Justus arrives Friday afternoon.


Below the schedule are various phone numbers; Wrightsville Beach Police, Fire and Rescue, and EMT. She’s also listed numbers for poison control, urgent care and a pediatrician Soren, I assume, has seen in the past. Vilma has generously written down the address of the house along with where to find the keys for the fleet of vehicles out front.

In parenthesis she writes: (If you don’t have a car seat, there is one in the Jeep)

There is also a list of telephone numbers for Lars; dressing room, cell, car and studio.

Chapter 4
Well, okay then. I will say this about Vilma Gunnar; she is well organized as a new mother. My heart hurts for her being away from her son, hell my heart hurts for my own kids. But her specifics are really specific. Far be it for me to criticize but my kids never had a strict schedule; I guess that is the difference of having an actress for a mother versus an artist. My kids eat when they are hungry, play when they are bored and sleep when they fall asleep. This monotonous schedule is going to get old with me quick. I get to the bottom again and wonder about Lars “presumptive” son. I know nothing about Justus Gunnar and if he is famous, I don’t realize it. I watch television but not a lot of it and I don’t see movies. I get to watch a lot of Nickelodeon, Nick Jr. and Cartoon Network. Considering my insomnia, I should watch more TV; it’s just that my real life is entertaining enough.

I bathe and wash my hair; it feels so good to get clean. The towels on the rack are soft Egyptian cotton and they seem to seep with warmth as I wrap one around my hair and one around my body. I look up and see a large reddish orange light, a heat lamp radiating down on me. It’s like an incubator in here but I’m not ready to leave. I go over to the window and look through the wooden blinds. Down below is a small sandy walking path lined by reeds and stone retaining wall. Directly next door is an equally impressive residence and through the walls I swear I can hear the neighbors having a grand time. Deep voices cry out like cheering for sports and the shrill of an older female voice is apparent, scolding them for their boisterousness. It must be overly quiet in this house; I shouldn’t be able to hear inside the house next door.

“The attributes of your genetics will eventually make themselves known, but for now they are limited.” My Daddy had warned me about this. I can only hope that they remain at bay until I can see Cian again.

I release the blinds and turn to leave the bathroom. Inside my bedroom I dress and see that on the bedside table it‘s 4:00 am. I must have been in the bath for a while, although it didn’t seem that long. Oh well, three and a half hours before I get Soren up. I decide to go out to the giant back deck and take in the salt life of Wrightsville beach. And while this is enjoyable and wonderful, it doesn’t compare to Emerald Isle. In about four weeks the air will change and the water will illuminate with a green hue. For now I would enjoy the time I have in Wilmington, but the anticipatory urge I have to race to EI is palpable.

I ‘m looking out over the ocean which at this hour is as black as the sky itself when my attentions are diverted to a small group of young people bounding down to the water; four young men and one teenage girl. She is calling for them to wait for her. I watch as they draw up their wetsuits and sit on the sand. Their surfboards are lying at their feet. The girl finally catches up and reprimands them for not waiting. She draws up her suit and sits on the sand beside the tallest of the young men. He is teasing her and it’s obvious they’re siblings. I whip my head toward their screened in deck where an older woman is calling down to them. She sees me and waves, I absentmindedly return the gesture. She is carefully descending a long staircase down to the sand when another, shorter blonde woman follows suit. I assume these women are the mothers of the five surfer kids, and I’m right when I hear one of the boys call the taller brunette woman Mom. It’s strange; the taller children belong to the shorter mother and vice versa. The other three boys are of average height, aside from one who is moderately taller; they obviously belong to the brunette woman who is much taller than the blonde. The two women are pulling and prodding the five youths and I can relate to that. I smile inwardly. The blackness of the sky is converting and I realize that these kids, training in the start of the off season. What a life, what a talent to have.

I look into the house at the clock on the wall, 5:30 am. It seems as though time is slipping from me so fast and the anxiety of waking a child that I have never met is beginning to rear its head. I can only hope Lars has discussed me with his young son. Luckily I will get to meet and talk to Henley before Soren wakes. I’m honestly looking forward to talking to another staff member about the Gunnar family. Here comes the gossip queen again. I like the mantra of Clarice in Steel Magnolias, “If you don’t have anything nice to say about someone, come sit by me.”

I reenter the house and I hear Mr. Gunnar, Lars shifting around, preparing to leave. I surprise the hell out of him when he strides through the hall into the great room. He exclaims something in another language.

“I’m sorry.” I say quietly.

He begins to laugh and takes a deep breath at the same time, “Oh, my dear. You scared me.” He is wearing the same thing we wore last night to greet me, white button up shirt tucked into blue jeans.

“I apologize; I wanted to be up when Henley arrived.” I subconsciously clasp my hands behind my back. “I was just taking in the view. I enjoy sunrise and sunset.”

“Of course; I apologize if the neighbors woke you. They are professional surfers…well the kids are. They live next door during the off season, they are nice people. Early risers though.” He says recovering from his shock, shifting about the house again. “I have to leave and my car is here. Good luck my dear.”

“Thank you, have a nice day.”

“Thank you.” His tone is like no one has ever said the phrase to him. He opens the door to leave and as he does he gets another shock, Henley, I assume, is standing with his hand up, ready to knock. “Oh, Henley, you and Babet are going to kill me today.” He says smiling.

“Sorry sir, it’s almost six and I wasn’t sure Miss Babet had arrived. You didn’t call me to let me know sir. I didn’t want you to be late or little Soren left alone.” Henley is a short but robust African American man and I can tell by his accent he is a native North Carolinian. His salt and pepper hair and freckled face make him seem grandfatherly. He catches my eyes and walks toward me, “Good Morning, my name is Henley. Miss Babet?” He says holding his hand out to me.

I take it and smile, “Yes sir, Henley I presume?”

“Yes ma’am.” He says proudly.

“Very nice to meet you.”

“I concur.”

“Goodbye you two.” Henley and I watch Lars walk out the door and after it’s closed Henley turns to me.

“Well, Miss Babet how was your drive up from the Big Easy?” He makes his way toward the kitchen, I follow.

I smile thinking of home, “Fine, I was later than I anticipated. Atlanta traffic…” He doesn’t let me finish.

“Oh yeah, been through that a time or two.” He says laughing. He is milling about the kitchen, pulling fruit from the refrigerator; a whole pineapple, mango, papaya and strawberries. He reaches into a small closet and retrieves an apron. It’s black and white pinstripe and as he ties the strings behind his back I sit at the granite counter. “What time did you get in?”

“I think it was around 11:30, but it was probably closer to 12:00.” I say watching his precise cutting.

“Wow, good thing the boss man had a nap earlier in the day.” He shakes his head smiling and there is something I don’t know. I search him inquisitively and he sees this, “Don’t get me wrong, he is a great father, but he is very busy. Poor little man…” He trails off. “I watched Soren while boss man slept.”

I begin to sympathize, but not for Lars, for Soren. Little boys need and love their fathers, the crucial bonding time between a father and son is short. I start to feel inadequate at my own son’s lack of father. At least he has my Daddy as a father figure for the time being. I remember the short time Cian spent with Henri and how well they got along. In a perfect world, Cian would be Henri’s father figure.

“That was nice of you.” I say as he offers me a freshly washed strawberry. “Thank you.” I bite into the dark red sweetness. Oh my, this strawberry is bursting through my taste buds like electricity. I close my eyes and savor its deliciousness. I don’t linger but it’s such an exquisite taste, I’m amazed and can’t help but comment, “Mmm, that is a good strawberry.”

“Child, that is a Henley strawberry!” He says loud and proud.

“You grew these?!” I exclaim and I can already tell Henley and I will be good friends.

“Yes ma’am, taught by my grandmamma. She was the Strawberry Queen.” He begins cutting the pineapple, “This one, I bought.” He says laughing which makes me laugh.

I glance at the clock, it’s 6:30. I have an hour before Soren is to be woken up. I lean in my seat and reach into my back pocket where I tucked the “Schedule”. I unfold it and lay it before Henley and the audience of fruit.

“Ah yes, the List.” He says ominously humorous.

“Yeah,” I say, “This is…um, detailed.” My tone is polite but I know Henley is reading me correctly.

“Detailed, good word Miss Babet.”

“Babe.” I say.

“Pardon?”

“You can call me Babe.” I say shoving another strawberry in my mouth, wincing at its bouquet of flavor.

“Babe?”

“Yeah, all my friends call me Babe.”

He turns his mouth down as if to think it over, “Babe. All right.”

I smile at him before popping another strawberry. I look back down at the “Schedule” and trail my finger down to the bottom where it says, “Justus arrives on Friday afternoon”.

“Do you know Justus, Henley?” I ask.

Henley is eyeing me speculatively, “Miss…Babe, you watch out for that one. He’s a cad…a womanizer. Why do you think Mr. Lars had you come all the way from New Orleans to keep little Soren? No agency in Wilmington will work with Mr. Gunnar because of Justus. He’s the definition of Casanova.” Henley winks at me as if to say, “Remember it.”

I smile back at him, “He can try, and it might be pretty entertaining to watch him do so.”

He’s watching me as if I don’t have a clue, “Okay Miss Babe, just be careful of that wolf. He will try, oh boy will he try.” His tone is quiet. I know he is talking to me but it’s almost as if he is telling himself.

I leave Henley to do what he does in his kitchen sanctuary and ascend the grand staircase. I slowly and quietly walk down the hall to Soren’s room. I turn the knob and then push the door open. To my surprise Soren is up and playing with a pair of trucks on the floor of his room. His flat screen television is on Nick Jr. already, this is violation of the “schedule” and I love it.

I smile when the boy meets my eyes, “Hi Soren,” my tone is sweet and motherly as if I were talking to Henri, “My name is Babet, but I want you to call me Babe; okay?”

He nods, “Babe.” And he has a slight accent as well. It’s so cute coming from someone so young.

“Yes, are you hungry? Henley is making your breakfast.”

“Yes.” He says getting to his feet. He teeters out the door and down the hall. He stops at the top of the steps and waits for me with his hand out. I take his hand and he proceeds to count down the steps.

“One, Two, Free, Fo…” He says until we reach the bottom at, “Fo-teen.” He jumps from the bottom step down to the floor. “Big Jump” He says looking up at me.

“Big Jump.” I retort.

He runs to the kitchen and says, “Hi Henny.” Soren climbs into the closest chair at a medium sized breakfast table.

“Hey Soren!” Henley draws out the “Hey”. “I got your breakfast right here little man.” Henley brings Soren a plate with two egg whites and a lovely display of fresh fruit.

“Tan ku.” Soren says before diving into the fruit.

“Eat your eggs too now.” Henley says like a no nonsense grandfather but Soren keeps eating the fruit. “Two more bites of fruit, then eggs; okay?”

“Okay.” Soren does as he is told and I get the feeling, he and Henley spend a lot of time together.

Henley offers me a plate of fruit also, “Would you like eggs Miss Babe?”

“No. Thank you, Henley. The fruit is wonderful.” I say and he smiles politely.

Soren and I eat together and once he is finally finished with his eggs we head into the great room to watch Learning Television. I turn it on, but Soren prefers to play with his number and letter puzzles. Occasionally he calls out the answer to a question the television is asking him, but he doesn’t face the TV. I take the opportunity and call home. It’s just after 9:00 am and I can at least check in with my Mamma, now and Scarlet, later on my break. I dial and Mamma picks up instantly.

“Babe!” She sounds great, joyous even.

“Hey Mamma, how are things going?”

“Great, great. Your Daddy was worried when we didn’t hear from you last night.” She says her tone a borderline scold.

“I know; I’m sorry. I didn’t get in until midnight and then I had to unload my car, blah blah blah. Who cares about that, how’s my little man?” I say and Soren looks up at me smiling. I have to remember Henley calls him that.

“He’s great, he’s right here…Henri, talk to Mamma?” I hear a cheerful reply in the background.

“Mamma!” Henri’s voices rings like a beautiful chime and I start to tear up.

“Hi Baby! Are you being a good boy for Nana?” I ask through a crack in my throat.

“No!” He says sweetly.

“No?!” I reply.

“Yes. Love Nana.” He says and the bauble of warm liquid falls down my cheek.

I wipe it away before Soren looks up again, “Aw, Love love Nana.” I say to Henri, “Let me talk to Nana, I love you Henri.”

“Love Mamma.”

“Hey.”

“Hey. So how is it?” Mamma asks, “Is the house huge?”

“You know it is, Mr. Gunnar is very nice. They have a personal chef named Henley, he’s also nice. How is Scar?” I ask since my Mamma has yet to divulge anything yet.

“Oh she’s great, you know honey. She misses you but she seems to be doing just fine.”

“Thanks Mamma, tell Daddy I will call when the sun goes down.” The last bit I keep quieter than the prior.

“Will do, have fun okay sweetie?”

“I will Mamma, I will. I love ya’ll.”

“We love you, talk to you later honey.”

“Bye.” I say and hang up my phone. Soren is still playing quietly, glancing up at the television every so often.

Before long it’s time for Soren’s snack and playtime. Henley peeks around the corner and calls the little boy into the kitchen. I follow as he takes his place again at the table. Henley delivers a plate with celery sticks and hazelnut spread, an orange in the shape of a sun and a cup of milk. On the side Henley gives Soren a dish of wheat crackers. The little boy eats quietly while I watch. Henley asks if I want anything and I tell him a cup f coffee would be epic. He prepares the pot and soon I smell the aroma of French roast coffee. Sitting across from Soren I ask him what he would like to do today.

“Beach.” He says with a mouth full of celery.

“Sure, we can go down to the beach. Do you swim?” I ask.

“No.” He says and I look up at Henley.

“Okay, do you like to build sand castles?” His little eyes light up, he stops chewing and nods his head aggressively. “That’s great; because I am the best sandcastle architect this side of the Mississippi.” I say proudly sitting up straight in my chair. I look back up at Henley, “Do they have shovels and such?”

“Yeah, down in the garage is a whole slew of stuff to build sandcastles.” Henley is smiling at Soren.

“Okay Soren, you finish your snack while I go get the supplies.” I push myself up from the table and head toward the foyer when I realize I don’t know how to get down to the basement. I turn back to face Henley who points at what looks like a closet door. I nod and wink.



http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...

Go To Pinterest and checkout my Morte' series boards, see who I pictured when I wrote Babet's Epiphany!!

http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...

Chapter 5

Down on the beach Soren and I have erected a sand palace with four turrets and a drawbridge moat. He truly is a delightful little boy, smiling ear to ear the entire time. He is extremely excited when he sees the surfing neighbors doing their thing in the water. The young girl wipes out and comes up on shore, she is heading our way. I watch her warily; I don’t know how the Gunnar’s feel about their son talking to strangers, but I rebuff myself when Soren gets up and hugs the girl, “Autumn!” He shrills wrapping his arms around her legs.

“Hi Soren!” She rubs his head. “Hi, I’m Autumn Green.” She says to me.

“Babet Beauregard.” I say enthusiastically, “You have real talent.”

She rolls her eyes, “Thanks, I’m trying. My brother and cousins are much better. They’re older, so…” She trails off, typical teenager. “You are so lucky.” She says out of the blue.

“Oh?” I reply and I cup my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun. Autumn is tall for a girl and has chestnut hair. I can barely make out the color of her eyes, but from what I can see, they are a beautiful bright hazel.

She puts her hand on her hip and shifts her weight to one side, “Yeah, working for Justus Gunnar’s father. Oh man if I was older…I don’t care what the girls around here say. He’s HOT.”

“I haven’t met him.” I say shrugging.

Autumn stands up straight like a soldier, “You haven’t…I mean you don’t know who he is?!”

“No, he comes in to town Friday.” My tone is unchanging. “Who is he?” I know a teenage girl will dish about this guy if Henley won’t.

“He’s on one of those premium channel werewolf shows my Mom won’t let me watch. He’s this really hot biker dude…” She talks on and on about Justus’ television show and I‘ve honestly never heard of it but I listen intently. She turns back to the water when she hears her name.

“Autumn! Come on!” The tallest of the four is calling her, “You can’t get any better if you don’t stay in the water!” His tone is condescendingly loud.

She rolls her eyes again, “My brother, Aaron. The other three are Landon, Deacon and Tristan Adams; they’re my cousins.” She says pointing them out. “It was nice meeting you, I better get back. Bye Soren!” She says at a higher pitch but he is too involved in his castle building.

“You keep at it, the sport needs more girls.”

“I agree!” She says wholeheartedly, turning go bound back to the water.

“It was nice to meet you too.” I call after her. I look at Soren who is sculpting a small hill, “She’s nice, huh?”

“Yes.” He says while continuing to sculpt.

I’m honestly not keeping up with the time when Henley calls Soren in for lunch from the deck, “Lunch little man!”

Soren jumps up from the sand and brushes his hands off onto his shorts and runs to the step staircase. I’m close behind him and take his hand as he places his foot on the first step. He proceeds to count again and it’s so like Henri. Boys at two are all inquisitive and talkative. Inside the house is so cold after Soren and I have been outside. I look at the clock on the wall, its 12:00 on the dot and I’m thankful to have Henley to keep me on track the first couple of days. I get the impression that Lars is less strict with Soren than Vilma but Henley is so precise I have to wonder about the other differences in the couple.

While Soren is eating his lunch I sit at the granite counter to talk to Henley, “Henley?”

“Yes Miss Babe?” He is still milling about; I assume preparing his own lunch.

“I just want to thank you for keeping me on track, I wasn't watching the time. I apologize.” I say sincerely.

He stops what he is doing, “No worries Miss Babe, I’m used to the schedule. Mr. Lars isn't nearly as punctual as Miss Vilma, but I figure it’s best to stay consistent. There’s less of a chance for me to mess up if I do. You’re new to all this, so it’s understandable on your first day.” He smiles genuinely. “Honestly this trip I don’t think Miss Vilma will be coming, Mr. Lars is taking Soren back to Sweden for their time off.”

“But they will return, right? I was told he was here until Halloween.” I ask.

“Yes, they’ll return, but I don’t think Miss Vilma will come back with them. She so wrapped up in her own projects.” He says wiping the counter; after he does he slips a plate in front of me.

“Thanks!” I say smiling at the chicken salad on a croissant with a single leaf of lettuce. “This is one of my favorite meals.”

“I know.” Henley says smiling big and bright.

I begin to get wary, my mouth is somewhat full, “What do you mean, you know?” I chew and swallow.

Henley slides me a glass of ice water, “Mr. Lars likes to keep food in the house people will eat, so your father provided him a list of your favorite foods and meals…” He trails off.

“What?” I ask; half a sandwich in hand.

“Well, he said you don’t eat much. We picked up the lightest of the foods suggested. Chicken and Tuna salad, croissants, fruit, green leaf salad with blue cheese dressing…”

I cut him off, “Okay, I get it.” I roll my eyes.

“Oh, so you do have a little attitude about you?” He says surprised.

“Yeah, I do if provoked enough.”

“That’s good, which will help you with Justus.”

I wonder why Henley is so cryptic about Lars’ older son and after Autumn’s crush-like explanation of his occupation I just know there is something there, “Like I said, he can try. How old is he anyway?”

Henley looks up to the ceiling, thinking hard, “Thirty five, thirty six; somewhere around there.”

I nearly choke on my water; Soren and Henley stare at me, “I’m okay,” I laugh, “Thirty five?!” I am moderately shocked. Why would a thirty five year old man play around with the babysitter? Meeting this cat is going to be interesting and might be quite entertaining. I smile at myself, Henley is still watching me. Soren has returned to his lunch. I straighten up and finish eating because after lunch is Soren’s nap and I can do my own thing for a little while. This time is considered Henley’s break. He leaves the house after I get Soren to lie down. I go back into my room and pull out my cell. It’s 2:00 pm before I can function uninterrupted.

I send Scarlet a text since she will be getting out of school soon and search for a local art store. I’ll need canvas if I’m to do any painting. I charge my camera battery and plug my tablet up as well. After I plug my phone into the outlet closest to the bed I find an art supply place downtown; Arrow Fine on Castle St., I search for a nearby restaurant and find Jester’s Café not far from Arrow Fine on Castle. Tomorrow I’ll take Soren on an outing. When Henley returns I’ll arrange to be out, so he doesn't have to prepare any meals for us.

I get a reply from Scarlet, “Hey Mom, how’s NC?”

I smile at my strong independent daughter, “Good, a little less humid than home. I miss you.” I type.

“Miss you too, have fun. Sleep.”

“Love u.”

“Love you.” She replies and I make a mental note to call my Daddy after sundown.

I do various researches on my phone, areas of Emerald Isle I want to paint and historical hot spots. I know a few in and around Atlantic Beach; Fort Macon for starters. The town of Beaufort and the Maritime Museum, not to mention the water front has history a plenty. I also want to go to the Morehead City Art and History Museum.

But my time off can’t come fast enough, I want so desperately to hunt Cian down, like he did me. Find him and have him wrap me in his arms, before proceeding into other things. I can’t help but laugh out loud at my sexual silliness. I calm down and hear rustling in Soren’s room, I may have woken him. I creep over to my door and crack it open, instantly I see light pouring from his door. I open mine all the way and say sweetly to him, “Hi; did you have a nice nap?”

He is standing in his door, hair disheveled and rubbing his eye. His lips are pouted and his cheeks are flushed. He doesn’t respond to my question, which I am used to. But he is quiet, which I am not used to. Henri has a tendency to take his dreams too literally and the epiphany hits me; my poor baby. Vivid dreams must run in the family.

Soren stands with his arms out for me to pick him up, I do and it’s the first time I've held him. He is the same density as Henri and his hair as I stroke it is the same silky childlike texture. Soren lays his head on my shoulder as I walk down the stairs. I peek into the kitchen on my way to the great room and see Henley has returned already preparing Soren’s snack. I turn on the TV and even though it’s not TV time, I think Soren needs a minute to wake up. It’s not fun television, it’s CSPAN. The ticker at the bottom and constant talking always keeps Henri awake; for now it seems to work for Soren.

I leave him on the couch and pad into the kitchen, “Henley.” I say and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Babe! You scared the shi…daylights out of me!” He is clasping his chest.

“Oh my God Henley, I am so sorry; I didn't...mean…to.” I say laughing in between words. I had done this to my Mamma a lot, creep up on her. She hates being scared; I often got a dirty look and the silent treatment for an hour. I of course never mean to, it’s something I can’t control; quiet walker.

Henley lightens up and a relived smile comes across his lips, “That’s okay Miss Babe. Whoa girl; you gave me a good shock. I didn't hear you at all.”

“I’m sorry.” My tone is sincere. “I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow.”

“What happens tomorrow?” He asks.

“I want to take Soren on an outing. I was thinking the Battleship and then downtown by the waterfront is the colonial vessel. Also there is an art store…” He cuts me off.

“Miss Babe, you don’t have to tell me where you’re going; just that you’re going.” He says professionally.

“Oh, well…okay. Soren and I will be out tomorrow, no need to prepare our meals.” I say with a fake British accent, waving my hand around like aristocracy. Henley laughs as Soren’s feet slap into the kitchen.

“Hey little man!” Henley calls, “Are you ready for your snack?”

Soren climbs into his chair, “Yes.”

Henley places a cut apple and mini squares of cheese in front of Soren who dives in immediately. Turning back to the granite counter Henley grabs a cup of milk and hands it to the eating child.

“Tan ku.” Soren says with a mouth full of cheese. He takes the cup between his two hands and gulps down half of it.

“Wow, you must have been thirsty?!” I say looking to Soren and then Henley who is mirroring my wide eyes.

Soren puts the cup down and gasps, “Yes.” He then grabs a fist full of apple.

I turn to Henley who is cleaning up his prep area, “I see you met the neighbors.” He says.

“Yeah, I met Autumn. She’s a nice kid, talented surfer too.”

“Oh yes, Autumn is a very nice girl. She takes a lot of mess from those boys. But she and her brother have a great relationship; friendly siblings for the most part. I don’t know much about the other three.”

“She said they are her cousins. Adams is their last name.”

“Oh yes, Blake Adams’s boys.”

“Blake Adams?”

“Brooke Green’s sister.” I stare at Henley; he has gone so far over my head. “Autumn and Aaron are Brooke’s kids and the other three boys are her nephews, Blake Adams is their mother, Brooke’s sister. They manage those kids’ careers; they were in Australia for the season but they returned home because Aaron was stung pretty badly by a swarm of jellyfish.”

“Yikes.” I say.

“I’m surprised he’s in the water now. He was hospitalized over there.”

I look at the clock and it’s time for Soren’s “quiet play time in his room”. He is finishing his snack and hops down from the chair. I get up and follow him to the staircase; he holds his hand out for me to help him up.

In Soren’s room the furniture is white and bright, like the rest of the house. By his spaceship bed is a small table, on it a professional black and white portrait of a beautiful blonde woman. It is a simple black back drop lit perfectly to accent her facial features which are tilted upwards. Her blonde hair is spilled over her shoulder and she is smiling happily. Even in black and white print, her eyes are definitely light blue. I pick up the frame and gaze at her face. Soren teeters over to me and says, “Moder.” Which I assume is Swedish for “mother”.

Of course this is the cherubic boy’s mother. She looks like she was carved out of cream cheese, perfect. Vilma Gunnar is not as old as her husband Lars. She looks to be a couple of years older than me; oh, there is definitely some familial drama here. I replace the frame and see that Soren is engaged in his ritualistic quiet play time. I ask if he needs me, to which he simply replies, “No.”

I leave the room and linger outside the door to make sure he’s okay then turn to go into my room. I realize this time of day is my break, but I feel like Soren’s nap time is a decent enough break. I don’t argue, so I grab my keys and linen sack I’m using for a purse, sling it over my shoulder and bound quietly down the stairs. I peek into the kitchen and tell Henley I’m leaving. He waves and I close the door behind me. I climb into my car and open my bag rested in my lap. I packed my camera after the battery was charged and my care package from home reminded me to stop at a gas station or specialty store.

The key turns in the ignition and I back carefully out of the curved driveway. Making my way down South Lumina Ave I turn left onto Sunset Ave and stop to take a picture of an architecturally strange beach house. I get back on Lumina and stop at the first gas station I come across to buy a pack of papers. Back in my car I discretely break up and roll myself a joint. I stash it in the visor and secure everything back in my bag. I drive into down town Wilmington and park where there is availability. Camera in hand I take at least two hundred and fifty pictures around Downtown. I get close to the waterfront and shoot the Battleship from there. I check my cell for the time and I have a half hour until my break is over. I quickly make it back to my car and race back to Wrightsville Beach. I bound in the door and look in the kitchen, Henley is flipping through a Men’s Health magazine.

“Quiet as a mouse, Miss Babe.” Henley says looking at his magazine.

“Thanks Henley.” I skip the stairs and fling my bag inside my door. I open Soren’s, he is playing with an alphabet puzzle. “Hey, are you ready to come downstairs?” I ask, hands on hips.

He gets up from the floor and passes me out the door. I follow him to the top step; down we go…one, two, and three…Henley is still flipping through his magazine. Soren passes to gain access to the great room as I enter the kitchen. I can see Soren from here.

“What’s for dinner?” I ask Henley like I would my Mamma.

“Well, Mr. Lars is at a studio dinner tonight and he said Soren could have pizza for dinner.” He inflects his voice so Soren can hear, it works. The little boy runs into the kitchen wide eyed and smiling ear to ear. He hugs Henley and then me before running back out of the room.

“He likes pizza.” I say as more of a statement than a question.

“What kid you know doesn't?”

I tilt my head to relent, it’s very true. I assume we’re ordering since Henley is not mercilessly kneading dough in here, flour everywhere. I smile at the thought; Henley would do that for Soren if he asked it of him. “Where are we ordering from?”

“Vito’s; Soren’s favorite.”

Henley orders the pizza, it arrives and Soren chows down. I bathe him and let him play for fifteen minutes before pulling the plug on the drain. I dry him, dress him and get him comfortable in his bed. He has pre-picked five books to read tonight. He barely makes it to 8:00 and I tuck him in. I creep to the door and turn on a dim night light by it. I slowly secure the door and walk back into my room. I grab my bag and tablet before heading downstairs. Henley is packing up to leave for the evening when I plop down on the couch.

“Well, goodnight Miss Babe. See you first thing in the morning.” He says lingering at the open door.

I look back over the couch and wave, “Goodnight Henley.”

Babet's Epiphany

Augusta Fern

http://www.amazon.com/Babets-Epiphany...

http://www.pinterest.com/augustafern/...